THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


GIFT 


THE  RED  MOUSE 


'S  CDlD   YOU   PUT  ff/MIX  THAT  FRAME?' 
Frontispiece,   The  Red  Mouse 


The  Red  Mouse 


A  Mystery  Romance 


ILLUSTRATED  By 
THE  KINNEYS 


A.  L.  SURT  COMPANY 
Publishers  New  Tork 


COPYRIGHT,  1909 
By  DODD,  MEAD  AND  COMPAHT 

Published,  January,  1909 


FS 


To 
L.  6.  S.  0. 


93S7S7 


FOB,  jears — the  best  years  of  her  life,  for  that  matter, 
as  she  often  reflected  in  lonely  moments — Miriam  Chal- 
loner  had  been  trying  to  prove  to  her  own  satisfaction 
that  her  husband  was  no  worse  than  the  majority  of 
young  men  married  to  rich  women,  but  she  could  never 
find  the  arguments  whereby  she  might  arrive  at  the 
desired  conclusion.  It  is  not  to  be  wondered  at,  then, 
that  eventually  there  came  a  day  when  the  information 
was  brought  to  her  that  even  in  the  gay  and  ultra- 
fashionable  world  in  which  they  moved  people  spoke 
of  him  as  "that  mad  Challoner,"  and  were  saying  that 
he  was  going  a  pace  that  was  rapidly  carrying  him 
far  beyond  the  horizon  of  anything  like  respectability 
— going  to  the  dogs,  in  truth,  as  fast  as  her  money 
could  take  him  there. 

Now  Miriam  Challoner  was  not  one  of  those  women 
who  deceive  themselves,  if  not  their  friends,  when 
they  say  that  if  ever  they  hear  of  their  husbands 
doing  such-and-such-a-thing  they  know  perfectly  well 
what  they  will  do.  It  is  true  that,  like  them,  she  did 
nothing;  nevertheless,  she  could  not  be  persuaded  to 
discuss  with  any  one  the  humiliating  position  in  which 
her  husband  had  placed  her. 

In  a  way,  this  attitude  of  hers  was  unfortunate,  for 


2  THE  RED  MOUSE 

it  was  more  or  less  responsible  for  the  note  of  melan 
choly  cadence  which  crept  into  her  mind.  And  so  it 
was  that  before  very  long  she  was  dimly  conscious  of 
an  emotion  quite  unlike  anything  that  she  had  hither 
to  experienced:  all  the  bitterness  in  her  heart  had 
given  way  to  a  sickening  sensation  that  she,  as  well  as 
as  he,  had  been  tried  in  the  matrimonial  furnace  and 
found  wanting.  Somehow,  she  had  fallen  grievously 
in  her  own  estimation ! 

And  society's  estimation?  Illusions  in  that  direction 
were  hardly  possible;  there,  too,  doubtless  she  would 
incur  the  loss  of  a  certain  amount  of  consideration. 
And  even  the  non-possession  of  a  highly  imaginative 
temperament  did  not  prevent  her  from  fancying  the 
expressive  shrugs,  and  "Oh,  of  course  his  wife  is  to 
blame,"  which,  for  the  sake  of  an  inference  that  is  ob 
vious,  would  be  voiced  by  more  than  one  impeccable 
dame  of  her  acquaintance — as  often  as  not  superbly 
gullible  souls,  whose  eloquence  increases  in  direct  pro 
portion  to  the  world's  lack  of  belief  in  the  fidelity  of 
their  liege  lords. 

Nor  were  comments  of  that  kind  the  worst  that  she 
might  expect!  For,  as  a  penalty  for  belonging  to  a 
set  which,  to  a  greater  degree,  perhaps,  than  any 
other,  recognises  the  possibility  of  an  up-to-date 
couple  having  a  mutually  implied  understanding  that 
neither  shall  object  to  the  discreet — and  more  or  less 


THE  RED  MOUSE  d 

temporary — faithlessness  of  the  other — she  knew  that 
it  would  be  well-nigh  miraculous  if  some  kindly  dis 
posed  persons  did  not  go  still  further  for  an  explana 
tion  of  his  conduct,  and  point  to  her  and  her  husband 
as  a  conspicuous  example  of  such  a  precious  pair.  But 
though  her  whole  being  rebelled  at  the  mere  thought 
that  there  could  be  people  who  would  regard  her  in 
such  a  light,  she  could  not  bring  herself  to  take  deci 
sive  action  of  any  kind.  There  was  nothing  that 
could  be  said,  she  told  herself,  nothing  that  could  be 
done — since  a  most  conscientious  and  pitiless  self- 
analysis  had  failed  to  reveal  any  wifely  shortcoming 
— except  to  have  faith  that  there  were  some  of  her  sex 
— not  many,  it  is  true,  but  still  a  few  friends — who 
would  continue  to  believe  her  incapable  of  doing  any 
of  the  things  that  so  many  others  did,  for  whom  there 
was  far  less  excuse  than  there  would  be  for  her. 

But  whatever  were  the  opinions  of  the  women,  there 
was  no  disposition  on  the  part  of  the  men  to  hold  her 
in  any  way  responsible  for  his  behaviour.  Far  from  it. 
And  in  a  favourite  corner  of  an  exclusive  club,  when 
the  names  of  fair  ladies — mostly  of  the  stage — were 
bandied  about  as  figuring  in  young  Challoner's  esca 
pades,  old  cronies  of  his  father,  between  sips  of  their 
Scotch  and  sodas,  were  wont  to  boil  over  with  con 
temptuous  indignation  and  explosively  give  thanks  to 
the  gods  for  willing  that  their  lovable,  old-time  friend 


4  THE  RED  MOUSE 

should  not  live  to  see  the  confirmation  of  his  fears. 
And  how  well  they  recalled  those  fears ! 

For  notwithstanding  his  very  moderate  circum 
stances,  the  elder  Challoner  had  been  that  rarest  of 
mortals — a  man  blissfully  content  with  his  lot  in  life, 
and,  one  who  seldom  missed  an  opportunity  to 
deplore  the  insatiable  craze  of  the  rich  for  more 
riches,  forever  protesting  that  blatant  commercialism, 
haste  and  artificiality  were  the  gods  of  the  present 
day;  and  no  picture  in  their  gallery  of  lasting  im 
pressions  stood  out  more  vividly  than  the  one  in  which, 
surrounded  by  a  group  of  young  fellows,  who  had 
"got  him  going,"  as  they  phrased  it,  he  was  declaim 
ing  against — what  was  merely  his  pet  hobby  in  an 
other  form — the  egregious  folly  of  poor  young  men 
seeking  riches  through  marriage. 

"  .  .  .  and  I,  young  gentlemen,"  he  would  con 
clude  with  great  earnestness,  "will  always  maintain 
that  such  a  union  will  make  a  man  lose  all  incentive 
to  work  out  what  the  good  Lord  has  put  in  him." 

Little  wonder,  then,  that  on  the  announcement  that 
a  marriage  had  been  "arranged"  between  Challoner's 
son  and  a  daughter  of  a  man  whose  name  the  world 
over  was  significant  of  fiscal  potency,  the  day  bid  fair 
to  be  a  memorable  one  at  the  club,  his  contempora 
ries  preparing  to  make  merry  at  the  old  fellow's 
expense.  But  in  a  sense  his  "showing  up"  there  had 


THE  RED  MOUSE  5 

been  a  disappointment;  one  look  at  the  face,  which 
showed  symptoms  of  distress  and  a  desire  to  be  reas 
sured,  was  sufficient  to  cause  the  banter  to  die  in  their 
hearts  before  it  had  reached  their  lips. 

It  soon  came  out  that  there  had  been  a  scene  between 
father  and  son.  These  two,  for  many  years,  had  been 
the  only  members  of  the  family ;  and  probably  better 
than  any  one  in  the  world  the  father  had  known  the 
son's  weaknesses:  hypersensitive  to  new  influences, 
vanity  and  inability  to  say  no ;  and  he  had  pointed  out 
to  him  the  many  disadvantages — dangers  to  one  of 
his  temperament — which  he  could  see  in  such  an  al 
liance.  To  the  father's  thinking,  the  boy  would  have 
no  home — only  establishments,  yachts,  racing-stables 
and  motor-cars ;  and  he  had  contended  that  there  were 
far  more  desirable  things  in  life  than  the  possession  of 
these — from  which  it  can  easily  be  surmised  that 
J.  Lawrence  Challoner,  senior,  was  a  man  little 
in  sympathy  with  the  ideas  of  modern  fashionable 
society. 

Now  to  appreciate  the  mental  anguish  of  another 
organism — even  if  that  organism  is  one's  own  parent 
— is  never  an  easy  matter ;  and  of  all  men,  the  modern 
lover  is  apt  to  be  the  last  to  succumb  to  an  argument 
that  predicts  a  blighted  future  because  of  an  intention 
to  marry  an  heiress.  And  so  it  was  only  natural  that 
Lawrence  should  have  regarded  his  father  as  an  old 


6  THE  RED  MOUSE 

fogy,  have  resented  his  warnings  and  have  replied 
that  he  was  competent  to  look  after  his  own  affairs 
and  that,  anyhow,  the  consent  of  the  girl's  parents 
had  been  obtained  and  no  interference  was  possible. 
And  with  that  the  father's  manner  had  completely 
changed :  he  had  wished  the  boy  the  best  of  luck ;  sent 
him  away  happy.  Obviously,  all  this  was  years  ago ; 
parents  on  both  sides  had  passed  away ;  and  yet 
things  had  turned  out  pretty  much  as  the  old  man  had 
dreaded.  Indeed,  matters  had  come  to  this  pass :  how 
long  this  indulgent  wife  would  continue  to  keep  her 
eyes  shut  to  her  husband  making  ducks  and  drakes 
of  her  fortune,  and  why  she  did  it,  were  questions 
which  interested  all  who  knew  this  couple,  but  which 
Challoner  apparently  thought  wholly  unnecessary  to 
ask  himself. 

An  automobile — Mrs.  Challoner's  automobile — was 
largely  instrumental  in  bringing  matters  to  a  climax. 
As  trouble-makers  the  "machines"  rank  high ;  in  fact, 
there  are  moments  when  it  would  seem  as  if  the  arch 
fiend  himself  were  in  them ;  otherwise,  how  account 
for  the  mysterious  influence  that  makes  people  lose 
command  of  themselves  once  they  are  in  command  of 
them;  that  leads  astray,  as  some  one  has  said,  the 
great  and  the  good  as  well  as  those  of  lesser  clay ;  that 
produces  the  extraordinary  state  of  mind  that  re j  oices 
in  riding  rough-shod  over  the  rights  and  feelings  of 


THE  RED  MOUSE  7 

others ;  while  one  and  all  claim  to  recognise  his  handi 
craft  in  the  ingenuity  which  the  "machines"  display 
in  selecting  the  most  inopportune  times  and  least  ac 
cessible  places  for  an  exhibition  of  their  mechanical 
ailments. 

But  be  that  as  it  may,  in  this  particular  instance  the 
devil  was  not  lurking  in,  tampering  with  the  improve 
ments  and  refinements  of  detail  in  the  big,  red  body 
of  Mrs.  Challoner's  Mastodon  model — no,  it  was 
not  with  the  machine  that  he  was  concerned,  but 
with  the  man  himself,  befuddling  whatever  brains 
he  had  left;  and  the  devil  it  was  and  no  other 
that  incited  Challoner  to  leave  a  certain  estab 
lishment, — about  which  we  shall  have  something 
to  say  later  on, — take  the  wheel  from  the  chaf- 
feur  and  embark  on  a  sensational,  bacchic  career 
up  the  Avenue  at  an  hour  when  the  view  of  that 
fashionable  thoroughfare  through  the  silken,  shim- 
mery  curtains  falling  over  a  window  in  a  corner  house 
facing  the  Park  was  too  alluring  not  to  be  ir 
resistible. 

And  so  it  came  about  that  the  comments  on  the  pass 
ing  throng  made  by  two  women,  indulging  in  after 
noon  tea  in  Mrs.  Challoner's  white  and  gold  drawing- 
room,  were  interrupted  in  a  manner  that  was  as  unex 
pected  as  it  was  embarrassing. 

"Look,  Miriam!"  Shirley  Bloodgood  was  saying  to 


8  THE  RED  MOUSE 

her  hostess,  apropos  of  a  woman  passing  by  whom 
they  both  knew,  "did  you  ever  see  anything  more  atro 
cious  than  that  gown?" 

The  other  smiled  her  appreciation;  and  again  the 
voluble  Miss  Bloodgood  went  on : — 

"And  do  look  at  the  Heath  girls  in  those  huge  hats 
— what  frights !" 

But  whatever  were  her  thoughts  on  the  subject,  Mir 
iam  Challoner  did  not  answer,  for  precisely  at  that 
moment  her  attention  was  attracted  by  something 
strangely  familiar  in  an  unusually  insolent  and  insis 
tent  honking  of  a  motor-horn,  which  was  causing  a 
wave  of  apprehension  to  sweep  down  the  long  line  of 
vehicles.  And  a  moment  later  they  saw  that  chauf 
feurs  were  rudely  interrupting  the  purring  of  automo 
biles  lazing  over  their  allotted  miles  ;  that  drivers  were 
swerving  their  horses  into  closer  relations  with  the 
curb;  that  hardly  had  these  attained  a  position  of 
comparative  safety  than  there  flashed  by  them  and 
fetched  up  in  front  of  Mrs.  Challoner's  house  a  big 
machine,  which  a  distinguished  though  dissipated 
looking  man  had  been  recklessly  forcing  with  utter 
disregard  of  the  right  of  way,  a  performance  which 
called  forth  a  volley  of  expletives  not  only  from  cab 
bies  singularly  unappreciative  of  his  dexterity  in  ex 
ecuting  perilously  close  shaves,  but  likewise  from 
angry  pedestrians,  who  had  halted  on  hearing  the 


THE  RED  MOUSE  9 

groan  with  which  the  machinery  protested  his  sudden 
braking. 

For  a  moment  that  seemed  minutes  the  atmosphere 
in  the  drawing-room  was  electric,  the  tension  almost 
unbearable,  for  it  was  impossible  for  either  of  the  wo 
men  to  doubt  that  the  other  saw  what  she  had  seen :  the 
condition  that  the  man  was  in  who  had  leaped  from 
the  car  and  was  now  crossing  the  sidewalk  apparently 
oblivious  to  the  exclamations  of  wonder  and  lament 
that  he  had  escaped  authoritative  vigilance. 

Rising  quickly,  Shirley  Bloodgood  put  out  her  hand. 
"Good-bye — thank  you  so  much,  Miriam!"  There 
was  an  amazement  of  question  in  the  eyes  that  invol 
untarily  sought  those  of  her  friend;  but  her  one 
thought  was  to  escape  what  she  wisely  interpreted  as 
an  oncoming  scene  between  husband  and  wife. 

But  though  there  was  a  mist  before  her  eyes,  a  surg 
ing  in  her  ears,  not  a  muscle  of  Miriam  Challoner's 
face  moved;  and  she  permitted  the  girl  before  her  to 
perceive  no  emotion  other  than  gentle  surprise. 

"Surely,  my  dear,  you're  not  going? —  What? —  So 
soon?" 

Conventional  though  they  were,  there  could  be  no 
mistaking  the  tone  of  sincerity  in  Mrs.  Challoner's 
words  as  she  took  the  girl's  hand  in  both  of  hers  with 
an  affectionate  movement.  Indeed,  for  the  barest  frac 
tion  of  a  second  it  almost  succeeded  in  convincing 


10  THE  RED  MOUSE 

Shirley  that  the  distressing  incident  of  the  motor  had 
entirely  escaped  her;  at  any  rate,  it  augmented  the 
doubt  whether  the  woman  before  her  had  even  an  ink 
ling  of  the  stories  in  circulation  concerning  the  doings 
of  her  husband.  Nor  was  such  a  conclusion  at  all  il 
logical.  Shirley  Bloodgood  could  recall  not  a  word 
that  Miriam  Challoner  had  ever  uttered  during  all 
the  year's  of  her  married  life,  nor  a  look  that  could  be 
construed  as  implying  a  knowledge  of  his  dissipa 
tions  ;  on  the  contrary,  there  had  been  times  when  the 
girl  had  been  so  exasperated  over  the  wife's  outspoken 
admiration  for  qualities  in  the  man  which  Shirley 
knew  that  he  did  not  possess,  that  she  had  been  sorely 
tempted  to  enlighten  her  friend  as  to  his  escapades. 
But  gratifying  as  was  the  thought  of  the  wife's  pos 
sible  ignorance,  it  by  no  means  lessened  the  necessity 
of  a  hasty  departure  on  Shirley's  part ;  and  somewhat 
confusedly  but  affectionately  she  kissed  her  hostess 
good-bye. 

"Oh,  my  dear  Miriam,  but  I  must — your  tea  is  per 
fectly  delicious  though.     If  only  I  had  time  .    .    .  ' 
Shirley  stopped  abruptly ;  her  endeavour  to  conceal 
her  anxiety  to  be  gone  was  making  her  uncertain  of 
her  words. 

"One's  tea,  like  one's  friends,  my  dear,  should  be  of 
the  best,"  Miriam  returned  with  a  sweet  smile.  And 
apparently  thinking  of  nothing  but  her  somewhat  in- 


THE  RED  MOUSE  11 

sipid  little  compliment,  she  laughed  pleasantly,  passed 
her  arm  lovingly  round  the  girl's  waist,  and  accom 
panied  her  to  the  door  of  the  drawing-room. 

Miriam's  smile  and  manner  touched  Shirley  deeply. 
The  inclination  to  offer  words  of  comfort  was  strong 
in  this  tall,  rangy  girl,  whose  every  movement  was  as 
graceful  as  it  was  impulsive.  How  sweet,  how  easy  it 
would  be,  she  thought,  if  Miriam  would  only  give  a 
hint  that  they  would  be  welcome.  But  like  many 
another  woman,  Miriam  Challoner  had  schooled  her 
self  to  face  the  world  with  a  smile ;  had  learned  that 
to  lay  bare  one's  heart,  even  to  one's  friends,  is  to 
court  surprise,  perhaps  ridicule ;  and  that  to  dissimu 
late  though  it  kills  is  to  play  well  one's  part ;  and  she 
gave  no  sign. 

On  reaching  the  hall  below,  Shirley  was  able  to  see 
through  the  open  door  Challoner  ascending  swiftly 
but  uncertainly  the  grey,  stone  steps.  With  a  quick 
movement  she  drew  to  one  side  while  he  sullenly  pushed 
by  his  wife's  young  butler,  Stevens,  and  began  to 
stumble  up  the  soft-carpeted,  wide  stairway ;  then,  un 
noticed  and  with  a  sigh  of  relief,  she  fled  out  into  the 
street. 

Left  rather  abruptly  alone,  Mrs.  Challoner  went 
back  into  the  drawing-room,  and  resting  her  arms  on 
the  mantel,  bowed  her  head  upon  them  and  gave  way 
to  the  misery  of  her  reflections.  It  was  not  the  first 


12  THE  RED  MOUSE 

time,  to  be  sure,  that  Lawrence  had  returned  in  this 
condition,  but  heretofore  he  had  been  gracious  enough 
to  have  had  it  occur  at  night ;  and  she  had  cherished 
the  belief  that  she  was  his  only  witness.  Now,  there 
was  an  element  connected  with  his  home-coming  that 
was  still  harder  to  bear:  the  sympathy  which  pleaded 
for  recognition  on  the  face  of  her  friend,  and  which 
told  more  plainly  than  words  that  she  had  seen  all, 
understood  all.  Presently,  lifting  her  head,  she  crossed 
the  room  and  seated  herself;  then  raising  her  hands 
she  let  them  drop  despairingly  along  the  arms  of  the 
chair  while  the  unbidden  tears  overflowed.  In  this 
position  she  remained  until  the  sound  of  footsteps 
warned  her  of  her  husband's  approach;  then  a  mo 
ment  of  struggle  for  self-control;  a  brushing  away 
of  tears,  and  finally,  rising,  she  left  her  seat  for  one 
behind  the  tea-table.  And  it  was  in  this  unquestioned 
point  of  vantage,  apparently  cool  and  collected,  in  the 
act  of  pouring  herself  out  a  cup  of  tea,  that  Chal- 
loner's  gaze  first  rested  upon  his  wife  as,  lurching  in 
his  walk  but  his  eyes  holding  a  purpose,  he  came  into 
her  presence. 

"Well,  Miriam,  here  I  am  .  .  .  I've  come  home,  you 
see !"  he  blurted  out  in  a  don't-care-what-happens  sort 
of  manner,  and  without  waiting  for  an  answer 
slumped  into  a  chair  and  added  sneeringly:  "You're 
not  over-demonstrative,  my  dear!" 


THE  RED  MOUSE  13 

Mrs.  ChalloBer  winced.  During  the  long  days  and 
nights  of  suspense  and  wonder  as  to  his  whereabouts, 
she  had  solaced  herself  with  inventing  plausible  ex 
cuses  for  his  absence ;  how  useless  they  were,  his  looks, 
manner,  and  more  than  anything  eke  the  intonation 
of  his  voice  now  showed ;  she  dared  not  trust  herself  to 
speak  lest  she  should  give  way  to  foolish  invective. 

Challoner  came  to  the  point  at  once. 

"Miriam,  I  must  have  some  money!"  It  was  not  a 
request;  it  was  a  command. 

Up  to  this  time  the  young  wife  had  not  lifted  her 
eyes  from  the  tea-cup  in  her  hand.  She  was  a  woman 
with  brow»  eyes  and  very  attractive  brown  hair,  but 
upon  the  face  that  still  should  have  held  the  freshness 
of  youth  deep  lines  were  beginning  to  appear.  Pretty 
she  was,  in  a  way,  though  she  had  never  been  beauti 
ful  ;  and  yet  there  was  something  that  spelt  beauty  in 
the  brown  eyes  which  she  now  fixed  upon  him. 

"For  three  days  you  have  been  away — where  have 
you  been?"  The  necessity  for  saying  something  alone 
was  responsible  for  the  question.  Many  days  after 
ward  in  reviewing  the  painful  scene,  she  was  positive 
that  she  had  not  inquired  nor  had  he  volunteered  the 
information. 

"I  don't  know,"  he  answered  dully,  half -truthfully. 
"All  I  know  is  that  I  landed  at  Cradlebaugh's."  And 
after  a  moment,  noting  the  look  of  mystification  on 


14  THE  RED  MOUSE 

her  face,  he  snapped  out:  "Cradlebaugh's  gambling 
rooms — gambling  rooms,  there — now  you  know." 

With  the  last  words  he  rose  excitedly,  stalked  over  to 
a  table  and  smote  it  with  his  clenched  hand. 
"I  tell  you  I  must  have  some  money !" 

Miriam  Challoner  would  not  have  been  human  if 
again  bitter  words  had  not  risen  to  her  lips.  But  one 
quick  glance  at  the  puffy  face,  the  red-rimmed  eyes 
was  sufficient  to  warn  her  of  the  danger  of  exciting 
his  anger  while  in  his  present  condition;  and  instead 
she  merely  inclined  her  head — an  action  which  in 
stantly  caused  hope  to  surge  into  the  eyes  of  Chal 
loner. 

"I  want — I  must  have  a  thousand  dollars."  Here 
again,  the  attitude  was  not  that  of  a  suppliant;  in 
the  demand  was  more  of  the  highwayman  than  of  the 
beggar. 

Mrs.  Challoner's  dark  eyes  met  those  of  the  man, 
held  them  steady ;  then  she  said  firmly,  decisively : — • 

"Lawrence,  much  as  it  hurts  me  to  refuse  you,  I  feel 
that  I  must.  It  is  for  your  own  good."  The  soft 
gown  that  clung  to  her  figure  seemed  to  take  more 
rigid  lines  as  she  drew  herself  up  and  went  on  with: 
"I  can  give  you  nothing  more — this  sort  of  thing  has 
gone  quite  far  enough." 

For  an  instant  Challoner  was  stunned.  His  wife  had 
never  looked  at  him  like  that ;  there  was  something  in 


THE  RED  MOUSE  15 

the  catch  of  her  breath,  too,  as  she  ended,  that  meant 
denial,  he  was  certain.  But  he  took  courage  and  re 
newed  his  attack ;  and  meeting  with  no  success,  he 
turned  to  imploring,  begging  for  the  money.  Did  she 
not  know  that  he  would  not  ask  her  if  he  did  not  have 
to  have  it?  Women  never  could  understand  why  men 
had  to  have  money — she  didn't  understand.  If  she 
would  only  let  him  have  the  money,  he  would  pledge 
himself  to  mend  his  ways,  anything — but  he  must  have 
money.  When  men  had  to  have  money,  they  had  to 
have  it — that  was  all  there  was  to  it.  And  then  a 
violent  irresistible  impulse  to  be  perfectly  truthful,  to 
lay  bare  his  mind  before  her,  took  hold  of  him;  and 
that  mind  was  so  warped,  his  need  so  desperate,  that 
he  came  perilously  near  to  blurting  out  the  real  rea 
son  why  he  needed  the  money.  For  an  instant  he  ac 
tually  thought  that  his  wife  would  see,  understand, 
appreciate  the  reason  as  some  of  his  male  friends 
doubtless  would. 

"I'll  tell  you  how  it  is,  Miriam  ..."  he  had  begun, 
and  then  suddenly  stopped. 

What  was  he  about  to  do !  Was  there  not  something 
queer,  something  not  exactly  right,  in  his  telling  Mir 
iam  about  the  other  woman?  After  all,  that  was  the 
one  thing  in  his  life  that  he  had  never  told  her.  She 
was  welcome  to  the  rest,  but  that — she  mustn't  know 
that ;  and  he  ended  by  pleading : — 


16  THE  RED  MOUSE 

"Surely,  Miriam,  you're  not  going  to  refuse  me — 
come  ..." 

"I  am  sorry,  Lawrence,  but  I  must."  There  was  a 
sob  in  the  refusal  as  she  turned  away. 

And  still  like  a  spoiled  child  the  husband  would  not 
abandon  his  plea.  Besides,  he  had  detected  the  sob. 
Once  more  his  attitude  underwent  a  change :  he  moved 
toward  her,  holding  out  his  arms  as  though  to  gather 
her  into  them.  It  was  a  charm  that  always  worked 
with  Miriam ;  it  would  now,  he  told  himself. 

But  Challoner  was  doomed  to  disappointment.  It 
was  the  last  touch  needed  to  complete  her  humiliation ; 
and  waving  him  back,  she  cried : — 

"Laurie,  Laurie,  anything  but  that !"  There  was  a 
flood  of  tears  behind  her  look  of  pain. 

"But  I  must  .  .  .  Cradlebaugh  ..."  he  came  to 
a  helpless  pause. 

Mrs.  Challoner  slowly  repeated  the  name : — 

"Cradlebaugh !  I  wish  you  had  never  seen  that  man 
— that  class  of  men!  Your  money — my  money  very 
likely  has  been  going  to  them !  Well,  if  you  want 
money  you  will  have  to  .  .  .  >:  The  tension  snapped 
and  she  drew  her  hand  across  her  eyes,  then  broke 
down  completely. 

"A  sign  of  weakening,"  Challoner  said  to  himself, 
and  promptly  started  toward  her. 

"No,  no, — go !"  she  cried,  drawing  her  hands  up  to 


THE  RED  MOUSE  17 

her  face  as  if  to  shut  out  the  sight  of  him  from  her 
gaze. 

A  moment  later  Challoner  was  seated  in  the  motor 
car.  As  the  chauffeur  threw  in  the  clutch  some  in 
stinct  told  Challoner  to  look  back.  He  had  a  fleeting 
impression  that  he  had  seen  a  woman's  face  in  the 
doorway.  "Surely  that's  Miriam,"  he  thought,  and 
lifted  his  hat ;  but  when  he  looked  again  there  was  no 
one  there.  Yet  if  his  senses  had  been  perfectly  normal, 
he  would  have  known  that  it  was  her  face  that  he  had 
seen.  But  the  fates  had  no  intention  of  letting  him 
know  that  with  his  departure  his  wife's  resolution  had 
gone,  and  that  she  had  come  to  the  door  to  beseech 
him  to  come  back ;  for  even  then  they  were  cunningly 
spinning  the  web  which  was  to  encompass  him  about. 


II 

CRADLEBAUGH'S, — Cradlebaugh's  house  of  a  thousand 
chances, — rearing  its  four  stories  of  brown  stone, 
spreading  itself  out  liberally  on  the  north  side  of  one 
of  the  side  streets  which  is  fast  being  given  over  to 
fashionable  clubs  and  restaurants,  is  a  thoroughly  up- 
to-date  establishment.  Here,  the  jeunesse  dore  of  the 
city  are  made  welcome — once  the  critical  eye  of  the 
sentinel  behind  the  triple  steel  doors  at  the  top  of 
the  brown  stone  steps  has  recognised  in  them  the  es 
sential  qualifications.  In  appointments,  the  house  is 
luxurious  and  gorgeous,  and  is  so  closely  shuttered 
that  not  a  ray  of  light  from  outside  is  permitted  to 
penetrate  it:  Cradlebaugh's  day  and  night,  night  and 
day,  is  lit  within  by  the  glow  of  artificial  lights ;  the 
sunlight  has  no  chance  in  Cradlebaugh's.  In  addi 
tion  to  the  main  hall  of  play,  there  are  accommoda 
tions  for  parties  wishing  to  indulge  in  quiet  games 
among  themselves.  Meals  are  served  at  all  hours, — 
supper  being  the  specialty  of  the  house, — and  notwith 
standing  that  no  charge  whatever  is  made  for  them, 
the  cuisine  and  service  are  beyond  reproach.  It  can 
truly  be  said  of  Cradlebaugh's,  that  it  has  all  the 
cheerfulness  of  the  hearth,  the  quiet  of  the  sanctuary, 
mingled  with  the  glare  of  irresistible  recklessness. 


THE  RED  MOUSE  19 

It  was  to  this  establishment,  then,  that  Challoner  di 
rected  a  cabby  to  take  him  after  hours  of  unsuccessful 
attempts  to  borrow  money  from  his  friends — unsuc 
cessful,  because  they  had  come  to  know  his  irresponsi 
bility,  and  to  realise  that  his  obligations  were  not  the 
obligations  of  his  wife.  The  consequence  was  that 
man  after  man  invented  an  excuse  or  refused  him 
emphatically.  And  finally,  in  desperation,  he  had  of 
fered  to  sell  the  Mastodon.  But  the  dealers  knew  who 
owned  the  car — one  of  the  handsomest  cars  in  town — 
and  on  Challoner  disgustedly  ordering  his  chauffeur 
home,  a  dealer  more  daring  than  the  others  had  said 
to  him  with  aggressive  familiarity : — 

"Get  your  wife's  bill  of  sale,  Challoner  we'll  buy 
it  then,  all  right." 

A  spark  of  anger  immediately  lit  up  Challoner's 
eyes,  resentment  was  deep  down  in  his  inmost  soul; 
but  his  brain  had  been  absinthiated  for  days,  his  sen 
sibilities  blunted,  and  indignities  fell  from  him  like 
the  proverbial  water  from  a  duck's  back.  Nor  was  it 
solely  with  his  mentalities  that  the  dissipations  of  the 
last  five  years  had  played  havoc:  his  face,  his  body, 
were  unnaturally  thin,  and  his  glance  had  become 
fixed  and  strained.  Nevertheless,  over-indulgence 
had  not  grossened  him,  he  was  still  good-looking,  and 
there  was  an  air  about  him  that  few  men  had.  In 
all  his  recklessness,  whenever  he  wanted  money  he  had 


20  THE  RED  MOUSE 

not  forgotten  that  fact.  It  had  always  counted  with 
Miriam — until  now.  It  counted  still  with  Miss  Letty 
Love  of  the  Frivolity ! 

There  had  been  moments,  it  is  true,  when  rushing 
madly  about  town  for  funds,  that  he  had  felt  it  would 
surely  have  been  better  for  him  if  he  had  never  gone  to 
Cradlebaugh's ;  but  then  like  a  flash  would  come  the 
thought  that  if  he  had  not  gone  to  Cradlebaugh's  he 
would  never  have  known  Letty  Love!  And  by  no 
means  had  he  arrived  at  the  state  where  he  could  have 
wished  that  .  .  . 

With  the  thought  of  Letty  Love  there  came  another 
indissolubly  connected  with  it:  Was  Colonel  Har- 
graves  slowly  undermining,  ousting  him  out  of  her 
affections?  Not  without  reason  he  argued  that 
Colonel  Hargraves  had  plenty  of  money,  and  the  man 
with  money  was  going  to  win  out  in  the  graces  of  the 
Frivolity  actress!  Challoner  could  see  it,  could  feel 
it,  and  now  in  this  crisis  he  could  not  raise  a  paltry 
thousand  or  two  .  .  . 

Suddenly  a  voice  from  overhead  broke  in  upon  his 
thoughts  with : — 

"Front  entrance,  sir?" 

Challoner  started.  The  query  was  pertinent,  fre 
quently  important,  sometimes  vital.  But  in  all  the 
times  that  Challoner  had  driven  to  Cradlebaugh's, 
never  until  now  had  this  question  been  put  to  him. 


THE  RED  MOUSE  21 

The  entrance  on  the  street  above,  he  was  quite  well 
aware,  was  for  those  whose  livelihood  supplied  suf 
ficient  reason  for  preferring  the  more  secret  way, 
while  the  man-about-town, — such  as  he  flattered  him 
self  that  he  still  was, — the  credential-bearing  stranger, 
even  those  whose  reputation  might  suffer,  found  that 
the  arrangement  of  the  main  entrance  furnished  them 
with  ample  protection.  Nevertheless,  far  from 
feazing  him,  Challoner  felt  that  in  some  subtle  way  the 
question  fitted  in  with  his  scheme  of  things.  For  a 
shadowy  purpose  was  slowly  forming  in  his  mind — 
a  purpose  that  required  thought.  His  answer  was  of 
paramount  importance,  he  must  make  no  mistake  .  .  . 

"The  rear — no,"  he  quickly  corrected,  "the  front 
entrance." 

Before  the  main  street  door  the  driver  pulled  up  his 
horse,  and  Challoner  hurriedly  walked — as  one  whose 
nose  was  straight  and  who  followed  his  nose — into  the 
whited  sepulchre  called  Cradlebaugh's. 

No  one  greeted  Challoner  as  he  passed  into  the  main 
hall :  it  happened  there  was  no  one  present  at  the  table 
that  he  knew.  In  the  old  days  it  had  been  the  custom 
of  Cradlebaugh,  the  human  spider,  frankly  to  exhibit 
himself  in  the  middle  of  his  net,  his  grim  smile  and  dry 
hand  extended  to  each  guest  who  came  or  went.  But 
of  late  years — since  he  had  shuffled  off  this  mortal  coil 
—there  had  been  no  one  to  make  these  obsequious 


22  THE  RED  MOUSE 

greetings ;  for,  though  Cradlebaugh's  still  was  Cradle- 
baugh's,  its  ownership  remained  a  mystery.  And 
whether  it  was  a  syndicate,  an  association,  a  reincar 
nated  spirit,  or  a  man,  no  one  could  tell.  Of  one 
thing,  however,  its  patrons  were  certain:  there  was 
but  one  Cradlebaugh's ! 

For  fully  half  an  hour  Challoner  stood  at  the  buffet, 
every  now  and  then  unsteadily  tilting  the  decanter. 
And  while  this  course  of  refreshment  may  have  dulled 
his  wits,  it  certainly  strengthened  his  courage,  for 
presently  he  said  to  himself: — 
"I'll  try  him,  yes,  why  not?" 

And  a  moment  later,  still  optimistic,  he  called  a  ser 
vant  and  asked: — 
"Where  is  Pemmican?" 

"Faro,  sir." 

Challoner  ascended  swiftly  to  the  second  floor,  and 
paused  at  one  room  whose  door  was  open. 

"How  long?"  he  inquired,  thrusting  in  his  head,  by 
way  of  greeting  to  the  group  at  the  table. 

Four  of  the  men  there  did  not  glance  up  from  their 
cards;  hollow-eyed,  cigars  between  their  teeth,  they 
were  alive  only  to  the  hundredth  chance  that  still 
eluded  them.  The  fifth  man,  a  railroad  president, 
coatless,  alone  nodded  to  Challoner,  and  said  senten- 
tiously : — 
"Forty  hours — for  me." 


THE  RED  MOUSE  23 

Half  way  down  the  corridor  Challoner  met  Pemmi- 
can,  head  card-dealer  of  Cradlebaugh's,  a  man  with  a 
pasty  face,  a  low  brow  and  shifty  eyes — a  man  who 
knew  his  business.  This  Pemmican  seemed  the  all- 
and-all  of  Cradlebaugh's,  apparently  general  facto 
tum;  but  though  he  simulated  the  appearance  of  an 
owner,  in  reality  he  was  a  servile  servant  stamped  with 
a  dread  of  the  pseudo-Cradlebaugh,  of  the  man  higher 
up.  Nevertheless,  whoever  controlled  the  destinies  of 
this  gambling-house  had  chosen  him  wisely. 

Challoner  came  at  once  to  the  point. 

"Pemmican,  I  want  some  money — about — "  and 
broke  off  abruptly,  for  the  other  was  eyeing  him 
coldly. 

Instinctively  Pemmican  of  the  low  brow  knew  that 
the  game  was  up  with  Challoner;  moreover,  he  saw 
that,  although  the  man  seemed  sober,  in  reality  he  was 
very  drunk.  He  walked  away  quickly,  dismissing  him 
with : — 

"I'm  sorry,  sir,  but  it's  against  the  rules.  I 
can't " 

"What  rot!"  interrupted  Challoner. 

But  by  this  time  Pemmican  had  reached  the  end  of 
the  hall,  leaving  the  other  to  gather  what  he  could  of 
his  mumbled  excuses. 

In  anything  but  an  amiable  mood,  Challoner  resumed 
his  position  at  the  buffet.  Suddenly  he  was  conscious 


24  THE  RED  MOUSE 

of  a  light  touch  on  the  arm.  Turning  slowly,  he 
found  himself  face  to  face  again  with  Pemmican. 

"Why  don't  you  try  Colonel  Hargraves  ?"  whispered 
the  latter. 

"What?"  came  from  the  clogged  brain  of  Challoner. 

"Try  Hargraves,"  the  other  went  on.  "He's  been 
down  to  Gravesend  for  two  days ;  and  he's  back  ..." 

Pemmican's  meaning  was  lost  on  Challoner,  for  he 
merely  exclaimed: — 

"Well?" 

Before  answering,  Pemmican  of  the  low  brow 
shrugged  his  shoulders  and  spread  out  his  palms, 
then  he  said  pointedly : — 

"Only  that  he  pulled  out  ten  thousand  on  Flora 
McQueen— that's  all !" 

"What?"  Challoner  began  to  understand. 

Pemmican  nodded. 

"Sure  thing — ten  thousand  dollars !" 

Slowly  and  deliberately  Challoner  refilled  his  glass  to 
the  brim.  For  a  moment  there  was  silence,  then  Pem 
mican  repeated  tantalisingly : — 

"Ten  thousand  dollars — not  a  cent  less!" 

Challoner  thought  for  a  moment. 

"How  did  you  come  out?"  he  asked,  much  to  the 
other's  surprise. 

Pemmican  shook  his  head. 

"I  lost  a  cool  thousand  because  I  did  not  back  the 


THE  RED  MOUSE  25 

mare.  I  played  on  Tigerskin.  I've  got  to  get  that 
thousand  back,  somehow." 

Challoner  emptied  his  glass. 

"Was  Colonel  Hargraves  down  there  alone?"  His 
voice  was  thick,  hoarse. 

"Where?"  returned  Pemmican,  as  if  he  had  misun 
derstood. 

"At  Gravesend?" 

Pemmican  looked  long  and  quizzically  into  Chal- 
loner's  eyes. 

"He  was  .  .  .  not,"  was  his  simple  but  significant 
answer,  and  moved  away. 

But  Challoner  followed  him  up,  and  seizing  his  arm, 
said  somewhat  gruffly : — 

"Look  here,  Pemmican,  if  Hargraves  comes  in — I 
want  to  see  him — tell  him  to  wait  for  me." 

For  the  first  time  Pemmican's  eyes  lost  their  curious 
tiredness,  an  enigmatical  smile  played  about  the  cor 
ners  of  his  mouth. 

"Yes,"  he  said  simply,  and  nodding,  went  his  way. 

Left  alone,  Challoner  found  himself  a  prey  to  all  the 
black  fiends  of  rage,  jealousy  and  desire  for  revenge. 
For  a  time  everything  was  blotted  out  from  his  vision 
except  the  face  of  Letty  Love  and  the  face  of  Colonel 
Hargraves.  "This  small  world,"  he  muttered  to  him 
self,  "is  much  too  small  for  me  and  Colonel  Har 
graves  !"  With  that  there  loomed  up  out  of  the  mists 


26  THE  RED  MOUSE 

of  his  mind  the  brilliantly  lighted  and  ornate  en 
trance  of  a  certain  apartment-house  a  short  distance 
away ;  and  a  few  minutes  later,  obedient  to  his  subcon 
scious  will,  his  feet  carried  him  down  the  stairs  to  a 
door  evidently  leading  to  the  outside.  A  few  words  of 
explanation  from  Challoner  to  the  man  on  duty  there 
were  necessary  before  he  would  proceed  to  undo  the 
complicated  system  of  bolts;  and  then  he  passed  out 
and  was  under  the  starry  skies.  Challoner  was  not  the 
first  man  of  social  prominence  in  the  community  that 
could  directly  trace  the  beginning  of  his  life  as  an 
outcast  to  passing  through  that  door! 


in 

HIBAM  EDGAR  LOVE — so  read  a  faded  yellow  card  on 
the  door-panel  of  Suite  10  in  the  "Drelincourt,"  an 
apartment  hotel  in  a  section  of  the  city  which  has  ever 
been  popular  with  a  class  that  has  been  well  termed 
the  "fringe  of  society."  The  name  was  not  printed, 
not  engraved,  but  written  in  ancient  India  ink  in  cop 
per-plate  perfection  by  the  careful,  cleanly,  genteel 
Englishman  that  Hiram  Edgar  Love  had  been — 
Hiram  Edgar  Love,  that  long  since  had  been  laid  to 
rest  in  a  quiet  Surrey  churchyard  leagues  distant, 
though  his  name  still  did  yeoman  service,  for  it  spelt 
respectability ;  it  covered  a  multitude  of  peccadilloes ; 
his  soul  went  marching  on !  For  was  it  not  the  shade 
of  Hiram  Edgar  Love  that  had  rented  the  Love  suite 
in  the  "Drelincourt,"  his  shade  that  paid  the  rent,  his 
pipe  and  his  slippers  that  lay  near  the  fireplace  for 
the  world  to  see? — Hiram  Edgar  Love  the  myth,  the 
constantly  expected  but  never-coming  master  of  the 
house ! 

Before  the  entrance  of  this  suite  Challoner  came  to  a 
halt. 

"I  wonder  if  she's  alone?"  he  mused,  as  with  some 
thing  like  the  palpitating  deference  of  a  stranger  he 
pressed  the  button  underneath  the  faded  card  and 


28  THE  RED  MOUSE 

waited  to  learn  his  fate  at  the  hands  of  the  one  woman 
in  all  the  world  for  him.  Nor  was  it  by  any  means  the 
first  time  that  he  had  asked  himself  that  question ;  all 
the  way  through  the  streets  it  had  been  in  his  mind 
every  moment,  and  so  absorbed  was  he  with  the 
thought,  that  he  failed  to  see  the  familiar  nod  with 
which  the  diminutive  god  of  the  "Drelincourt"  lift 
acknowledged  his  advent  as  he  proceeded  to  carry  up 
ward  his  human  freight. 

"Same,  sir,  I  suppose  ?"  asked  the  boy. 

Challoner  made  no  answer;  but  leaving  the  car  at 
Hhe  desired  landing,  he  had  turned  to  the  right 
and  directed  his  steps  to  the  extreme  end  of  the 
corridor. 

It  was  a  new  experience  to  Challoner  to  wait  among 
the  shadows  of  the  dimly  lighted  hall;  hitherto  his 
custom  had  been  to  let  himself  in,  sans  ceremony ;  but 
the  apparently  successful  campaign  of  the  racing 
Colonel  had  changed  that — put  him  on  a  different 
footing. 

"If  he's  there,"  he  assured  himself  as  he  pressed  the 
button  again  impatiently,  "I'll  know  what  to  do,  all 
right  ..." 

But  if  Hargraves  were  not  there !  That  was  the  con 
tingency  that  sent  a  chill  over  him.  He  could  deal 
with  a  man — but  the  woman !  A  woman  who  had 
never  cared  and  who,  he  was  only  too  well  aware, 


THE  RED  MOUSE  29 

would  never  even  pretend  to  care  for  him  unless  he  had 
the  wherewithal  with  which  to  lure  her  back. 

"If  it  were  not  for  Hargraves — "  he  broke  off 
abruptly,  for  the  door  had  opened  with  such  unex 
pected  suddenness  that  it  required  not  a  little  effort  to 
pull  himself  together,  and  demand  of  the  trim,  little 
maid  who  stood  there : — 

"Your  mistress — is  she  at  home?" 

"Miss  Love  is  not  at  home,  sir." 

Challoner  was  not  so  sure  about  that;  in  a  trice  he 
was  past  her,  going  through  room  after  room  until 
he  had  covered  the  entire  apartment;  and  she  had 
barely  recovered  from  the  shock  that  his  strange  be 
haviour  had  given  her  than  he  was  back  again  in  the 
small,  square  hall,  eyeing  her  suspiciously. 

"I  want  to  see  your  mistress." 

"Miss  Love  is  not  in,  sir,"  she  told  him,  just  as  if 
he  did  not  already  know  it. 

"But  you  know  where  she  went?"  he  asked  mean 
ingly. 

"Indeed,  sir,  I  do  not,"  she  replied,  not  at  all  dis 
concerted  by  his  manner;  and  her  eyes  as  they  fixed 
their  gaze  on  his  were  as  steady  as  the  lips  that  said : 
"She  should  be  with  her  father,  sir." 

Challoner  raged  inwardly ;  he  thought  he  detected  a 
gleam  of  mockery  in  her  eyes.  Once  more  he  plunged 
through  the  apartment,  seeking  some  incriminating 


80  THE  RED  MOUSE 

scrap  of  paper,  some  evidence  that  would  betray  his 
divinity's  whereabouts.  But  after  a  few  minutes  he 
was  back  again,  standing  over  the  girl,  menacingly. 

"I  want  you  to  tell  me  where  Letty  is?"  he  said  in  a 
tone  that  told  plainly  that  such  lies  were  not  for  him ; 
but  it  had  little  effect  on  the  maid:  long  practice  in 
fencing  with  Miss  Love's  admirers  had  made  trickery 
her  forte. 

"You  might  try  Atlantic  City,  sir,"  she  suggested 
blandly ;  "it's  quite  possible  that  they  went  there." 

At  this,  Challoner  looked  ugly,  and  seizing  her 
roughly  by  the  arm,  he  led  her  to  her  mistress'  bou 
doir,  where,  pointing  to  a  Verne-Martin  cabinet  that 
stood  in  a  corner,  he  exclaimed : — 

"Who  put  him  there?" 

For  answer  the  girl  shrugged  her  shoulders.  She 
made  no  attempt  to  disengage  herself  from  his  grasp, 
merely  watched  Challoner  as  his  gaze  rested  angrily 
on  a  plain  gold  frame  in  which  was  an  unconventional 
half-length  photograph — Colonel  Richard  Hargraves, 
his  arms  akimbo  upon  a  table,  his  shoulders  forward, 
his  smug,  full,  self-satisfied  face  thrust  into  the  face 
of  the  world — of  Challoner. 

Even  on  paper  Hargraves's  lazy  eyes  seemed  to  in 
sult  and  tantalise  him,  and  an  insane  desire  to  crush, 
batter  and  destroy  this  counterfeit  presentment  came 
over  him.  For  an  instant  he  had  a  vague  sensation  of 


THE  RED  MOUSE  31 

suffocation,  almost  to  choking,  and  releasing  the  girl, 
his  hand  sought  his  throat ;  it  encountered  a  scarf-pin 
— a  trifle  that  his  wife  had  given  him  long  ago.  Tear 
ing  it  quickly  from  his  scarf,  he  extended  it  toward 
the  maid. 

"That  may  fetch  the  truth  from  her,"  he  said  to 
himself,  and  aloud:  "Tell  me  where  Letty  is,  and 
.  .  .  no" — the  girl  was  reaching  for  the  jewel,  but 
he  held  it  from  her — "no,  tell  me  first,"  he  added 
hoarsely,  toying  with  the  pin. 

"Well,  then,  if  you  must  know,  sir,"  she  stammered, 
"she  went  to  Gravesend — the  races,  sir." 

Challoner's  mind  received  this  information  with  a 
certain  morbid  exultation ;  and  thrusting  his  face  in 
to  hers  and  pointing  with  the  pin  to  the  portrait,  he 
cried : — 

"Then  she  is  with  him?" 

The  girl  was  silent ;  she  was  figuring  the  value  of  the 
pin.  It  was  worth  fifty  dollars,  she  finally  decided, 
and  looking  up  at  Challoner,  admitted  the  truth  with 
a  nod. 

The  pin  fell  into  her  ready  grasp. 

When  Challoner  spoke  again  his  voice  was  calm  and 
steady. 

"Sit  down  there."  He  motioned  to  a  seat  and  he  took 
the  one  opposite.  "We'll  wait  until  they  come  back 
— just  wait." 


32  THE  RED  MOUSE 

For  minutes  that  seemed  hours  they  sat  facing  each 
other,  Challoner  dogged  but  quiescent,  the  girl  with 
a  growing  unrest  upon  her — a  cat  with  a  cornered 
mouse. 

At  last  a  buzzer  sounded. 

"Stay  where  you  are!"  Challoner  commanded,  as 
the  girl  made  a  movement  to  go.  "If  it's  somebody 
else,"  he  added  quickly,  still  looking  at  her,  but  with  a 
changed  eye,  "we  don't  care  about  them ;  they  can  go 
away." 

Again  the  buzzer  sounded. 

"Has  she  a  key?"  he  whispered. 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  matching  his  tone. 

"Has  he?"  persisted  Challoner. 

The  girl  held  up  her  hand  for  reply :  the  jingling  of 
keys  in  the  outer  hall,  followed  by  the  clink  of  metal 
in  the  lock,  had  reached  their  ears;  then  came  the 
closing  of  the  door,  the  click  of  high  heels,  the  swish 
of  skirts,  the  odour  of  violets,  and  then  Letty  Love,  in 
all  her  pink  and  white  loveliness,  tall,  supreme,  her 
face  flushed,  her  lips  parted,  her  eyes  sparkling,  stood 
framed  in  the  doorway.  At  the  sight  of  the  man  and 
the  girl  sitting  there  like  two  culprits,  she  burst  into 
laughter — a  long  peal  of  laughter  that  was  her  stock 
in  trade,  and  which  ran  the  gamut  of  her  deep,  con 
tralto  voice.  And  still  neither  the  man  nor  the  girl 
spoke,  but  continued  to  look  ill  at  ease.  To  Miss 


THE  RED  MOUSE  33 

Love  the  situation  was  amusing — too  amusing  for 
words. 

"Inconstant! — Naughty  Lawrence!"  she  exclaimed, 
leaving  his  name  stranded  in  the  air — a  coquettish 
way  she  had  in  speaking — and  pointing  her  tiny 
gloved  finger  at  him:  "Perhaps  I  interrupt?"  And 
now  turning  to  the  girl :  "Patricia,  I  didn't  know  you 
could  be  so  interesting  .  .  .  ' 

The  maid  gasped  with  relief  as  she  left  the  room  in 
obedience  to  a  dismissing  wave  of  her  mistress'  hand. 

"Well,  why  don't  the  rest  of  you  come  in?"  Chal- 
loner  growled,  fastening  his  eyes  on  the  woman. 

Letty  Love  opened  her  blue  eyes  wide — eyes  that 
could  look  the  innocence  of  a  child  or  the  wisdom  of 
the  ages — and  feigned  not  to  understand.  And  then 
as  if  his  meaning  had  dawned  upon  her,  she  said  with 
a  good-natured  smile: — 

"Oh— why,  I'm  alone !" 

"It's  a  good  thing  you  are,"  he  told  her  pointedly. 

At  once  a  hardness  crept  into  her  voice,  and  she 
asked  coldly: — 

"For  whom?"  And  for  a  moment  she  delayed  pull 
ing  off  her  wraps. 

"For  the  other  man." 

"Silly  boy!  How  ridiculous  you  are!"  she  returned 
lightly,  as  she  tossed  her  wraps  over  a  chair  and  be 
gan  to  pull  off  her  gloves. 


34  THE  RED  MOUSE 

Challoner  went  over  to  the  photograph,  picked  it  up 
and  wheeling  round  said  threateningly : — 

"Did  you  put  him  in  that  frame?" 

"I  did,"  she  answered  sweetly.  "I'm  very  domestic, 
you  know,"  and  she  smiled  one  of  her  most  bewilder 
ing  smiles ;  "I  always  arrange  these  little  things  my 
self." 

"And  what  did  you  do  with  mine?" 

Letty  looked  dubious.  She  touched  a  button,  and  to 
the  maid  who  entered  asked  with  mock  anxiety : — 

"Patricia,  what  did  you  do  with  the  half-tone  of  this 
gentleman  that  I  gave  you  ?" 

The  maid  regarded  first  one  and  then  the  other  some 
what  curiously. 

"It's  in  my  room,  Madam." 

"With  the  other  notables?"  And  Letty  Love  lifted 
her  eyebrows.  "Patricia's  room  is  quite  a  picture- 
gallery,"  she  went  on  gaily.  "You  may  investigate 
it,  if  you  like — no?"  And  dismissing  the  maid,  went 
over  to  the  piano  and  began  to  strum  the  refrain  of 
a  popular  song. 

Challoner's  lips  emitted: — 

"You — "  They  closed  en  a  gasp  of  rage,  disap 
pointment,  despair  and  impotent  admiration.  Had 
he  dared,  he  would  have  gone  on  his  knees 
to  her  then  and  there,  taken  her  in  his  arms 
and  kissed  her;  but  the  woman's  indifference 


THE  RED  MOUSE  35 

appalled  him,  and  instead  he  gritted  his  teeth,  dug  his 
nails  into  the  palms  of  his  hand.  Then,  for  the  first 
time,  it  dawned  on  him  that  she  had  worn  for  Har- 
graves  the  gown  that  he,  Challoner,  had  selected  for 
her — a  gown  white,  immaculate,  simple,  which  fol 
lowed  religiously  the  lines  of  the  superb  figure,  that 
left  nothing  to  be  desired,  of  Letty  Love,  full- 
throated,  full-bosomed,  with  her  jet-black  hair  that 
gave  no  sign  of  fastening,  with  her  blue  eyes  and  dark 
eyebrows,  with  her  milk-white  flesh,  which,  artificial 
though  it  were,  concealed  nothing,  revealed  nothing 
but  the  loveliness  of  the  woman. 

The  man's  eyes  shone  with  pride  as  he  observed  her 
finished  appearance;  for  was  it  not  he  who  had 
taught  her  to  gown  herself  like  that,  showed  her  how 
to  live,  lifted  her  into  the  high  places? 

"And  this  is  how  she  repays  me!"  he  muttered  to 
himself,  and  then  aloud :  "What's  the  matter  with  you, 
Letty — is  it  because  my  money  has  given  out  .  .  .  " 

This  startled  the  woman  into  earnestness,  and  rising 
to  her  feet,  she  drew  herself  to  her  full  height,  and 
pointing  to  the  door  declared  with  an  injured  air: — 

"No  man  can  talk  to  me  of  money  in  this  house !" 

Challoner's  face  was  a  study,  but  he  did  not  move. 

"Especially  when  it's  all  gone!"  he  sneered,  search 
ing  her  countenance.  Never  until  now  had  he  real 
ised  the  monumental,  stupendous  power  of  money. 


36  THE  RED  MOUSE 

Now  that  he  had  none  and  the  car  of  juggernaut  was 
slowly  crushing  him,  he  could  understand  that  he  be 
longed  in  the  ditch  with  the  maimed,  the  lame,  the 
dying.  There  was  no  necessity  for  a  reply  from 
Letty.  The  woman's  face  revealed  the  contempt  with 
which  she  regarded  him.  What  mattered  it  to  her 
that  the  man  had  surrendered  everything  that  was 
worth  while  in  life,  that  he  had  sacrificed  himself  at 
her  shrine !  She  was  one  who  demanded  the  firstlings 
of  the  flock ;  he  was  nothing  save  carrion  for  daws  to 
peck  at.  The  fruit  was  devoured;  of  what  value  was 
the  rind? 

"You  had  better  go,"  she  said  superciliously ;  "there 
is  no  need  of  coming  any  more." 

In  a  sort  of  daze  Challoner  was  shambling  toward 
the  door  when  the  telephone-bell  rang.  Instantly  it 
roused  all  the  deviltry  and  cunning  that  had  oozed 
from  him  the  moment  before.  Seizing  the  receiver,  he 
thrust  it  silently  against  his  ear. 

"Hello !"  began  the  voice  at  the  other  end. 

Challoner  did  not  answer. 

"Is  that  you,  Letty?"  the  voice  went  on. 

Still  Challoner  did  not  answer.  Then,  as  the  wo 
man  stepped  forward,  he  handed  the  receiver  to  her, 
at  the  same  time  placing  his  left  hand  over  the  mouth 
piece,  and  said: — 

"It's  Hargraves — tell  him  to  come  up,  will  you?'f 


THE  RED  MOUSE  37 

She  shook  her  head. 

Again  the  voice  at  the  other  end  of  the  wire  sounded, 
but  she  could  not  answer,  for  the  thickness  of  Chal- 
loner's  hand  lay  between  her  and  communication.  The 
suspense  was  unbearable — getting  on  her  nerves. 
There  was  nothing  to  do  but  to  comply  with  his  wish ; 
and  upon  her  eyes  suddenly  yielding  to  his,  he  re 
leased  the  mouthpiece,  standing  on  guard  the  while 
she  obeyed  him.  Then  he  drove  her,  literally  drove 
her  into  a  far  corner  of  the  room. 

"Now,  let  him  come!  We'll  see  ..."  he  ex 
claimed,  holding  a  revolver  in  his  right  hand ;  and  as 
he  stood  there  watching  her  as  a  tiger  does  a  tigress, 
it  was  with  a  certain  sense  of  gratification  that  he 
noted  written  across  her  face  the  altogether  new  sen 
sation  of  fear,  terror,  and  therefore  respect  for  him. 
And  he  rejoiced  in  the  knowledge  that  the  hand  that 
could  no  longer  count  out  banknotes  to  her  or  sign 
cheques  was  a  hand  that  held  life  and  death  within  its 
grasp.  Letty  Love  realised  this,  too,  as  she  stood 
there  cowed,  trembling,  listening,  watching  the  door. 
Suddenly  there  flashed  through  her  mind  a  way  out  of 
the  situation,  and  smiling,  she  said  lightly : — 

"Oh,  pshaw,  Lawrence,  the  heavy  is  not  your  line! 
Come — suppose  we  have  something  to  drink.'* 

And  without  waiting  for  him  to  answer,  she  crossed 
the  room  and  pressed  the  button  there.  Somewhat 


38  THE  RED  MOUSE 

sheepishly  Challoner  slipped  the  revolver  back  into  his 
pocket  and  dropped  into  a  chair,  while  she  ordered  the 
maid  to  fetch  some  Bengal — a  cordial,  a  distilled  de 
light  that  had  come  down  to  her  from  a  period  so  re 
mote  that  the  memory  of  man  runneth  not  to  the 
contrary.  In  his  lifetime  Hiram  Edgar  Love  had  pos 
sessed  gallons  of  it ;  it  had  come  to  him  in  the  night 
from  the  mysterious  East,  in  the  teeth  of  the  revenue 
guns.  And  Challoner  knowing  it  for  the  thing  it  was, 
his  face  flushed  with  the  pleasure  of  anticipation. 
Letty  took  her  place  beside  a  small  table,  and  pres 
ently  a  silver-topped,  cut-glass  decanter  was  in  her 
hand,  which  she  held  over  a  glass,  saying : — 

"Will  you  help  yourself  or  shall  I   ..." 

Challoner  nodded. 

"Go  ahead— fill  it  for  me,  Letty." 

Challoner  drank — drank.  He  forgot  Hargraves, 
forgot  everything  but  the  face  of  Letty  Love,  a  kiss 
that  he  wanted,  but  that  somehow  he  could  not  get, 
an  utterance  in  a  thick  voice,  a  momentary  hand-to- 
hand  struggle,  not  with  Hargraves,  but  with  her, 
then,  somehow,  she  eluded  him  and  he  was  left  alone — 
alone  in  the  darkness  that  the  Bengal  had  cast  upon 
him! 

But  in  all  this  there  was  no  Hargraves. 

***** 

A  few  hours  later  when  he  awoke,  he  was  still  sitting 


THE  RED  MOUSE  39 

at  the  table,  but  he  was  alone.  He  rose  hastily,  even 
steadily,  and  scoured  the  other  rooms;  there  was  no 
one  there.  He  looked  for  the  Bengal ;  but  that,  too, 
had  disappeared.  All  of  a  sudden  the  jewels  that  were 
on  her  dressing-table — jewels  that  he  had  given  her — 
caught  his  attention,  and  for  the  moment  the  tempta 
tion  was  strong  to  take  them  for  the  money  that  was 
in  them.  But  even  his  dull  wits  soon  recognised  the 
folly  of  such  a  proceeding,  since  it  was  for  her  that 
he  needed  the  money,  and  somewhat  reluctantly  he  put 
them  back  in  their  case,  muttering  to  himself  as  he  left 
the  house: — 

"Letty  must  believe  in  me — things  are  bound  soon  to 
come  my  way." 

In  a  little  while  he  was  back  again  at  Cradlebaugh's, 
wandering  about  the  rooms  looking  for  Pemmican. 
Finally  he  saw  him  coming  out  of  one  of  the  rooms 
and  hailed  him  with: — 

"Hargraves  showed  up  yet?" 

The  unwholesome  looking  factotum  shook  his  head; 
at  the  same  time  he  noted  that  Challoner  was  in  a  dif 
ferent  mood  than  when  he  had  talked  with  him  earlier 
in  the  evening.  Pemmican  wondered  as  he  turned 
away ;  but  then  it  was  not  given  to  him  to  know  that 
Challoner's  experience  that  night  had  served  immeas 
urably  to  strengthen  a  desperate  purpose.  True,  that 
the  joy  that  had  been  Challoner's — "his  by  rights," 


40  THE  RED  MOUSE 

as  he  told  himself — had  been  wrested  away  from  him, 
for  he  was  satisfied  that  Hargraves's  absence  from 
Cradlebaugh's  meant  that  he  was  with  Letty  Love. 
But  little  by  little  the  agony  of  jealousy  was  becom 
ing  a  pleasurable  sensation — a  passion  that  obsessed 
him.  So  that  far  from  brooding,  he  felt  as  feels  the 
man  of  destiny :  Whatever  was  to  happen  would  hap 
pen.  He  would  wait  days,  weeks,  months,  if  necessary, 
for  Hargraves. 

A  day  rolled  round.  Night  again  at  Cradlebaugh's, 
and  Challoner  still  at  his  post  of  observation,  waiting. 
It  was  past  midnight  when  Colonel  Hargraves  finally 
appeared.  Challoner  felt  his  presence  even  before  he 
stepped  up  to  the  buffet;  and  summoning  to  his  aid 
all  the  suavity  of  manner  that  he  possessed,  for  he 
knew  he  must  be  careful,  as  the  other,  doubtless,  would 
be  on  his  guard,  he  called  out : — 

"Colonel  Hargraves !" 

Hargraves  turned  quickly,  and  seeing  it  was  Chal 
loner,  a  flicker  of  a  self-congratulatory  smile  broke 
over  his  large,  round  face,  as  he  answered: — 

"Why,  hello,  Challoner!" 

The  momentary  gleam  of  triumph  did  not  escape  the 
other,  and  it  required  a  supreme  effort  to  force  back 
the  blood  that  was  rushing  to  his  temple. 

"I  want  a  word  with  you,  Colonel !"  And  with  a 
wave  of  the  hand:  "Room  A — will  that  suit  you?" 


THE  RED  MOUSE  41 

Colonel  Hargraves  hesitated  for  a  moment;  he 
moved  a  bit  to  one  side  and  stared  hard ;  but  the  other 
bore  his  look  of  keen  suspicion  with  perfect  serenity. 
The  Colonel  shrugged  his  shoulders.  Finally  he 
said : — 

"Oh,  very  well,  Challoner — that  suits  me." 

To  Room  A  they  went ;  Pemmican  followed  with  de 
canters.  Possibly  he  suspected,  feared,  realised  that 
the  air  was  charged  with  electricity.  In  any  event 
Pemmican  was  in  charge  of  Cradlebaugh's ;  it  was  for 
Pemmican  to  see  and  to  know. 

There  was  a  table  in  Room  A,  with  chairs  about  the 
table ;  and  a  stand  against  the  wall.  There  were  also 
two  large,  heavy  leather  lounging  chairs  with  arms. 
Pemmican  placed  his  burden  upon  the  stand  against 
the  wall,  lingered  for  an  instant,  and  then  went  softly 
out.  Neither  of  the  men  spoke  until  after  he  had 
left  the  room  and  closed  the  door.  When  each  had 
seated  himself  at  the  table,  Challoner  got  down  to 
business. 

"Hargraves,"  he  began  with  sinister  familiarity, 
"you  have  ten  thousand  dollars  in  your  pocket,  I  be 
lieve?" 

Colonel  Hargraves  repressed  a  movement  of  impa 
tience  with  difficulty.  He  nodded,  and  unconsciously 
took  the  attitude  of  the  counterfeit  presentment  in  the 
apartment  of  Letty  Love. 


42  THE  RED  MOUSE 

"Ten  thousand  dollars,"  repeated  Challoner  with 
provoking  coolness,  as  he  likewise  planted  both  elbows 
on  the  table,  and  added  somewhat  ominously:  "And 
I'm  broke !" 

There  was  a  pause  in  which  the  men  looked 
straight  into  each  other's  eyes ;  then  Challoner  rose, 
walked  over  to  the  table,  half  filled  two  glasses, 
and  placing  them  on  the  table,  leaned  far  over  it, 
declaring : — 

"And  yet,  Colonel  Hargraves,  you  and  I  are  going 
to  sit  in  a  ten  thousand  dollar  game  to-night !" 

Challoner  drained  his  glass;  his  example,  however, 
was  not  followed  by  the  Colonel.  Instead,  he  put  his 
arms  akimbo,  his  fists  resting  on  his  hips,  and  tilting 
back  his  head,  he  said  with  an  air  of  contempt : — 

"Indeed!    What  with?" 

"With  your  ten  thousand !"  It  was  well  said.  Chal- 
loner's  cool,  passionless  voice  gave  to  the  declaration 
the  character  of  infallibility. 

"And  you — "  Hargraves  muttered  in  a  puzzled  way. 

"Not  a  dollar,"  admitted  Challoner. 

Colonel  Hargraves  rose ;  he  threw  into  his  glance  all 
his  knowledge  of  Challoner's  past. 

"You  must  take  me  for  a  fool!"  he  burst  out,  and 
started  for  the  door. 

But  he  had  gone  only  a  few  steps  when  he  felt  Chal 
loner's  clutch;  turning,  he  felt  the  power  of  Chal- 


43 

loner's  eyes ;  and  presently  under  their  compelling  in 
fluence  he  found  himself  once  more  taking  his  seat. 
He  made  no  attempt  to  analyse  his  sensations,  but  he 
realised  that  Challoner  had  made  a  new  impression.  In 
all  the  eventualities  he  had  foreseen,  he  calculated  on 
Challoner's  being  a  weakling,  a  wreck.  But  to  his 
astonishment  he  saw  within  those  eyes  nothing  but 
success.  Challoner  had  become  a  man  not  to  be  dis 
regarded — a  man  of  strength. 

"My  proposition  is  a  perfectly  fair  one,"  went  on 
Challoner.  "You  put  up  ten  thousand  cash " 

"And  then — go  on " 

Challoner  lifted  his  arm  and  pointed  silently  in  the 
direction  of  the  "Drelincourt." 

Incredulity  shone  in  the  eyes  of  Hargraves;  his 
scorn  found  vent  in  an  attempt  at  levity. 

"Rather  like  putting  up  something  that  doesn't  be 
long  to  you,  eh,  Challoner?" 

Challoner  was  not  feazed;  it  was  the  answer  he  ex 
pected. 

"It  looks  that  way,  Hargraves,"  and  suddenly 
thrusting  himself  forward,  "but  I  can  make  it  un 
commonly  disagreeable  for  the  other  claimant.  You 
don't  know  me — I'm  an  uncertain  quantity — and  wo 
men  are  blamed  queer.  If  I  win,  I  keep  the  ten  thou 
sand — and  my  chances." 

"And  if  you  don't  win  ?"  a  bit  breathlessly. 


44  THE  RED  MOUSE 

"If  you  win,"  went  on  Challoner,  "you  keep  your 
ten  thousand,  and — I'll  quit  without  a  murmur." 

In  the  pause  Hargraves  thought  hard — never  in  his 
life  had  he  thought  harder.  The  more  he  studied 
Challoner,  the  better  he  liked  the  proposition.  The 
moment  was  fraught  with  something  new  and  signifi 
cant.  In  more  ways  than  one  he  feared  Challoner,  for 
he  was  by  no  means  certain  of  his  own  place  in  the 
woman's  affections.  And  then  in  his  mind  there  was 
one  certainty — Hargraves  knew  that  the  game  was 
already  his;  knew  that  Challoner,  steady  though  he 
seemed,  was  unquestionably  drunk.  Never  was  vic 
tory  more  certain  than  at  the  present  time. 

"If  I  win,"  at  last  he  said  with  great  earnestness, 
"you  will  swear  to  leave  me — you  will  leave  us  alone?" 

Challoner  nodded. 

Hargraves  seized  his  glass  and  extended  it  to  bind 
the  bargain.  Challoner  seized  his,  but  found  it  empty. 
He  left  his  seat  and  came  back  with  it  filled. 

"It's  a  go !"  he  said,  and  pressed  a  button. 

With  the  same  sense  of  responsibility  upon  him, 
Pemmican  responded;  and  on  Challoner's  order  he 
went  out  and  returned  with  ten  new  packs  of  cards, 
tossing  them  on  the  table  with  their  wrappers  un 
broken. 

"Cold  hands,"  announced  Challoner,  "five  hundred  a 
throw." 


THE  RED  MOUSE  45 

Hargraves  pulled  forth  his  roll  of  bills  and  placed 
it  on  the  table;  then,  placing  a  hand  on  the  arm  of 
Challoner,  he  exclaimed  vehemently,  so  that  the  other 
should  not  forget  it: — 

"It's  understood  now,  Challoner,  that  if  I  win  you're 
to  leave  us  alone — sure?" 

Pemmican  left  the  room  and  closed  the  door  behind 
him.  Challoner  smiled  across  the  table,  and  a  new, 
strange  expression  crossed  his  features  that  Har 
graves  did  not,  could  not  understand. 

"Sure,"   repeated    Challoner,   placing  the  decanter 

upon  the  table.    Then  they  started  in  to  play. 

#  *  #  *  # 

Twenty  minutes  later  Pemmican  rushed  pell-mell  in 
to  Room  A. 

"There's  a  big  row  on,"  he  said  to  himself;  "a  row 
over  a  lady  and  a  game  of  cards." 

And  so  it  proved. 

There  was  a  row  on  between  the  men  who  occupied 
Room  A,  and  but  for  the  isolation  of  the  room  it  was 
a  row  that  might  well  have  roused  the  house. 

"You've  lost,  I  tell  you !"  one  of  the  men  exclaimed ; 
the  other  laughed  boisterously,  defiantly,  victoriously. 

"If  I've  lost,  so  have  you !"  he  answered. 

What  followed  happened  in  an  instant  and  before 
Pemmican  had  been  in  Room  A  thirty  seconds.  For 
suddenly  one  of  the  men  there  had  whipped  from  his 


46  THE  RED  MOUSE 

coat-pocket  a  weapon  that  glinted  in  the  white  light ; 
as  suddenly  he  had  taken  aim,  and  then  came  a  flash, 
a  report,  a  cloud  of  smoke. 

Pemmican  looked  on,  speechless. 

Presently  one  of  the  men  crossed  the  room  and  sank 
into  a  chair  in  a  dazed  sort  of  fashion,  his  head  lolling 
across  the  upholstered  arm;  while  the  other  glanced 
about  him  for  an  instant,  looked  at  Pemmican,  looked 
at  the  figure  lying  on  the  chair,  and  then  started  sud 
denly  toward  the  door. 

Three  minutes  later  Pemmican  switched  off  the  lights 
and  plunged  the  room  in  darkness. 

"A  row  over  a  lady,"  he  murmured  breathlessly,  "a 
row  over  a  lady  and  a  game  of  cards." 

At  two  o'clock  that  morning,  Officer  Keogh  of  the 
night  squad,  patrolling  a  dimly  lighted  thorough 
fare  in  the  rear  of  Cradlebaugh's,  stumbled  over  an 
object  lying  in  deep  shadow. 

"Good  Lord !  It's  a  man !"  said  Keogh,  stooping 
down  suddenly  and  as  suddenly  drawing  back.  He 
drew  himself  together,  bent  down  again,  felt  cau 
tiously  about,  wiped  his  hands  and  shuddered,  and 
drew  back  once  again,  as  he  whispered  to  himself : — 

"A  dead  man — shot  to  death !" 

He  rapped  wildly  with  his  night-stick — the  wild,  ir 
regular  tattoo  that  makes  the  slumberer  rise  suddenly 
in  bed  and  tremble,  and  then  crouch  between  the  bed- 


THE  RED  MOUSE  47 

clothes  shivering — and  pending  the  arrival  of  as 
sistance  he  stooped  once  more  and  fumbled  in  the 
pockets  of  the  dead  man.  Presently  from  the  breast 
pocket  of  the  coat  he  drew  forth  a  yellow  pigskin  wal 
let,  and  upon  its  corner  in  glaring  gold,  that  even  in 
the  dim  light  glittered  garishly,  appeared  the  letters, 
"R.  H." 

In  this  wise  the  body  of  Colonel  Richard  Hargraves, 
man-about-town,  was  found  lying  in  the  gloom  at  two 
o'clock  that  morning. 


IV 

OFFICER  KEOGH,  an  hour  later,  under  the  white  light 
of  the  desk  lamps  over  at  the Precinct,  was  tell 
ing  his  story  to  the  desk-sergeant  behind  the  rail.  The 
desk-sergeant  listened  disinterestedly  until  he  heard 
mentioned  the  name  Cradlebaugh.  At  that  juncture 
he  held  up  his  hand,  placed  a  warning  finger  on  his 
lips,  nodded  toward  the  drowsy  doorman  and  toward 
two  of  the  reserve  squad  in  the  room,  and  looking 
Keogh  in  the  eyes,  whispered : — 

"Officer,  speak  low." 

Keogh,  taken  aback  for  the  moment,  dropped  his 
voice  as  he  went  on  with  his  story.  Once  more  the 
sergeant  stopped  him. 

"The  most  important  thing  is  just  where  the  body 
was  found.  Be  exact  now,  if  possible ;  it's  important." 

Keogh  went  on  to  give  a  minute  description,  and 
wound  up  by  saying : — 

"The  man  was  dragged,  all  right,  after  he  was  dead." 

The  desk-sergeant's  eyes  narrowed  to  pin  points  as 
he  demanded : — 

"In  which  direction?" 

"To  the  west." 

The  desk-sergeant  shook  his  head  portentously,  and 
observed : — 


THE  RED  MOUSE  49 

"Looks  for  sure  like  this  was  pulled  off  in  Cradle- 
baugh's." 

"That's  what  I've  been  telling  everybody,"  returned 
Keogh,  the  pride  of  proper  diagnosis  resting  cheer 
fully  upon  him. 

The  desk-sergeant  shot  out  his  forefinger  and  ex 
claimed  : — 

"The  least  you  have  to  say  about  the  matter  the 
better.  This  is  not  a  case  for  you  or  for  me,  but  for 
the  captain  in  the  morning." 

The  captain  appeared  unusually  early  in  the 
morning  with  some  half-dozen  papers  in  his  hand. 
Slapping  the  morning  editions,  scareheads,  up 
permost  in  front  of  the  sergeant,  he  blurted 
out: — 

"What's  this  here?" 

The  sergeant  glanced  at  the  lopmost  sheet  and 
skimmed  rapidly  over  the  details. 

"Don't  know  where  they  got  the  facts,  but  it  looks 
like  they  got  'em  right." 

The  captain  scratched  his  head,  then  for  the  next  few 
minutes  he  looked  out  of  the  window  and  watched  the 
passing  throng;  he  was  pondering  deeply.  Finally 
he  inquired: — 

"What  did  you  do?" 

The  desk-sergeant  grinned. 

"Not  a  bloomin'  thing,"  he  answered. 


50  THE  RED  MOUSE 

The  captain  shot  a  glance  of  surprised  approval  at 
his  inferior. 

"For  once,  by  gum,"  he  conceded,  "you  hit  the  nail 
upon  the  head.  This  isn't  a  case  for  the  police — not 
yet." 

"Then  for  who?"  The  desk-sergeant  looked 
dubious. 

"For  Peter  Broderick,"  said  the  captain,  nodding. 

"What's  Peter  Broderick  got  to  do  with  it  ?"  inquired 
the  desk-sergeant,  still  doubtful. 

The  captain  seized  the  telephone,  but  paused  to  ex 
plain  : — 

"Peter  Broderick  has  got  everything  to  do  with  it, 
since  the  people  put  this  blatherskite  Murgatroyd  in 
to  the  prosecutor's  office.  You  know  as  well  as  I  do 
that  there's  been  too  many  rumpuses  in  Cradlebaugh's 
— and  Murgatroyd  sent  word  from  the  court-house 
that  the  place  would  be  closed  up,  cleaned  out,  if  there 
was  any  more  trouble  there." 

"And  Broderick?"  persisted  the  sergeant. 

"Broderick  gave  me  orders  to  be  tipped  off  hard 
when  anything  happens  to  Cradlebaugh's — no  mat 
ter  what.  And  that,"  concluded  the  captain,  "is 
enough  for  you  and  me;  we've  got  to  obey  orders — 
see?" 

He  removed  the  receiver  from  its  hook  and  was 
about  to  talk  to  Central,  but  changed  his  mind,  hung 


THE  RED  MOUSE  51 

up  the  receiver,  wheeled  round  on  the  sergeant  and 
asked : — 

"Were  you  going  home?" 

The  other  stretched  his  arms  and  yawned. 

"Yes.    Why?" 

The  captain  passed  over  two  black  cigars. 

"Smoke  'em — they'll  keep  you  awake.  And  say,"  he 
went  on,  placing  his  hand  soothingly  upon  the  other's 
arm,  "you  wouldn't  mind  looking  up  Chairman  Peter 
Broderick,  would  you  ?  It  isn'  t  everybody  I  can 
trust." 

He  seized  a  pad  and  wrote  hastily  for  a  moment,  and 
finally  handing  the  slip  of  paper  to  the  sergeant, 
added : — 

"First,  try  these  four  addresses.  If  he's  not  at  any 
of  these,  then  try  his  home ;  you'll  be  sure  to  find  him 
there.  But  see  him — don't  take  no  for  an  answer, 
and  after  you  have  told  him  the  whole  story,  get  his 
orders — see?" 

It  took  an  hour  and  a  half  to  locate  Chairman  Peter 
Broderick ;  the  sergeant  found  him  home — in  his 
rooms  on  the  ground  floor  of  the  Iroquois  Club.  He 
waited  for  some  time  before  he  could  gain  access  to 
that  estimable  gentleman,  for  Peter  Broderick's  hour 
for  rising  was  high  noon.  The  boy  who  aroused  him 
awakened  a  slumbering  lion;  the  Iroquois  Club  cow 
ered  when  Broderick  woke  up ;  others  cowered,  too. 


52  THE  RED  MOUSE 

Broderick's  word  was  law  everywhere,  and  yet  he  wore 
no  badge  of  authority,  held  no  office — he  did  not  even 
want  one.  He  was  higher  than  authority,  stronger 
than  civic  force:  he  was  power  personified.  He  had 
attained  that  mystical  position  in  the  universe,  known 
wherever  men  cast  ballots  as  Chairman  of  the  County 
Committee,  which  meant  to  owe  no  man  a  duty,  but  to 
demand  servitude  and  fealty  from  every  man.  It 
meant  more — it  meant  to  hold  the  bag !  It  meant  that 
whatever  Peter  Broderick  wanted  he  got. 

"Well !"  roared  Broderick  to  the  sergeant ;  "what  in 
thunder  do  you  want?" 

The  desk-sergeant  briefly  set  forth  his  credentials 
and  authority,  and  then  plunged  boldly  into  the  pur 
pose  of  his  presence. 

"The  captain  wants  to  know  what  he's  to  do  about 
this  Hargraves  murder?" 

Broderick  stared  hard  at  him. 

"Hargraves  murder?"  he  repeated.  "What  Har 
graves  ?" 

The  sergeant  told  him. 

"Great  Scott !  So  he's  dead.  Confound  him !  He 
bled  me  like  thunder  at  draw  the  last  time  I  met  him !" 

The  sergeant  went  on  to  give  him  the  facts ;  Broder 
ick  the  while  was  thinking  deeply.  Finally  he  inter 
rupted  the  other  with  the  question : — 

"Look  here,   sergeant,  what  was  there  to  prevent 


THE  RED  MOUSE  53 

Hargraves  being  shot  down  by  a  highwayman  or  a 
thug?  Can  you  tell  me  that?" 

"Officer  Keogh  says " 

"Hang  Officer  Keogh!"  yelled  Broderick.  "Keogh 
is  going  to  say  nothing  but  what  he's  told  to  say. 
Look  here — do  you  know  who  killed  Hargraves  ?" 

"No." 

"Does  anybody  know?" 

"Not  yet." 

"So  far  so  good.  Now,  then,  that's  a  dark  street, 
isn't  it?  And  other  houses  as  well  as  Cradlebaugh's 
have  an  opening  on  that  street,  haven't  they?  I  say 
that  this  thing  wasn't  pulled  off  inside  of  Cradle 
baugh's  ;  it  was  the  work  of  an  unknown  assassin — a 
thug.  Do  you  understand?"  he  declared  emphat 
ically. 

"You  want  the  captain  to  work  it  out  on  that  theory ! 
Isn't  that  it?" 

"I  don't  want  the  captain  to  work  it  out  on  any 
theory!"  yelled  Broderick.  "Let  the  captain  sit  still 
— do  nothin'! — say  nothin'!  I'm  doin'  this  thing — 
I'll  work  out  all  the  necessary  theories!  Do  you 
hear?" 

"The  captain  told  me  to  remind  you  that  Prosecutor 
Murgatroyd " 

Broderick  sprang  to  his  feet  and  stood  glowering 
over  the  sergeant. 


54  THE  RED  MOUSE 

"Murgatroyd!  Nobody  has  to  remind  me  of  Mur- 
gatroyd — confound  him !  I'm  always  being  reminded 
of  him.  He's  the  only  office-holder  in  this  burgh  that 
hasn't  got  the  decency  to  know  that  what  /  say  goes ! 
Sergeant,"  he  went  on  confidentially,  "this  is  a  blamed 
important  thing,  and  before  I  do  anything  I'm  going 
down-town  to  consult  Mr.  Graham  Thome.  I'll  bring 
him  up  to  Cradlebaugh's ;  you  tell  your  captain  to 
meet  us  there  in  an  hour  and  a  half.  That's  all  he's 
got  to  do — all  you've  got  to  do — I'll  do  the  rest.  Now 
go!" 

Twenty  minutes  later  Broderick  waddled  into  the 
private  office  of  Graham  Thorne,  Esquire,  counsellor 
at  law. 

"Thorne,"  he  exclaimed,  lounging  back  comfortably 
in  a  chair,  "have  you  seen  about  this  thing?  Do  you 
know  what  happened  there  last  night?" 

Thorne  smiled  grimly  and  pointed  to  the  pile  of 
morning  papers  on  his  desk. 

"I  knew  about  it  at  six  o'clock  this  morning.  I've  been 
waiting  for  you  to  turn  up  for  the  last  four  hours." 
There  was  a  note  of  superiority  in  his  voice,  which, 
strange  to  say,  Broderick  in  nowise  resented. 

Broderick  ever  since  he  had  met  Thorne,  had  felt  an 
admiration  for  this  tall,  handsome,  dignified  young 
man,  with  the  grey  just  commencing  to  creep  in  his 
hair.  Thorne  possessed  all  the  qualities  that  go  to 


THE  RED  MOUSE  55 

make  up  a  clever,  astute  counsellor  at  law.  Of  his  an 
tecedents,  it  is  true,  no  one  knew  aught ;  he  had  merely 
arrived  a  few  short  years  before,  opened  his  big  law 
office,  stalked  into  the  courts  and  out  of  them,  into  the 
clubs  and  out  of  them.  It  cannot  be  denied  that  he 
made  his  best  impression  upon  laymen  and  not  upon 
the  lawyers,  although  even  the  members  of  the  Bar 
conceded  that  Thorne  had  ability.  That  he  earned  a 
great  deal  of  money  was  quite  manifest,  for  he  spent 
it  with  a  free  hand,  if  a  trifle  too  ostentatiously.  He 
was  not  a  politician  in  any  sense  of  the  word,  and  yet 
unquestionably  he  had  the  air  and  the  earmarks  of  the 
man  who  some  day  might  become  a  statesman.  He  hob 
nobbed  with  the  best  people,  knew  everybody  worth 
while,  and  everybody  worth  while  knew  him.  Brod- 
erick  felt  that  if  fate  could  regenerate  him  he  should 
like  to  be  Thorne. 

"Well,"  blurted  out  the  politician,  "what  are  you 
going  to  do  about  it?" 

"What  are  we  going  to  do  about  it?"  asked  the  law 
yer  in  turn. 

"I  can  handle  the  police,"  Broderick  affirmed. 

"That  goes  without  saying;  but  we're  up  against 
something  more  than  the  police." 

"If  Tom  Martin  or  Sam  Apgar  was  the  prosecutor 
now,"  wailed  Broderick,  "we'd  have  no  trouble.  They 
used  to  come  to  me  regularly  for  instructions " 


56  THE  RED  MOUSE 

Thome  rose  slowly,  paced  the  entire  length  of  his 
long  private  office,  treading  noiselessly  the  thick, 
green  carpet  like  a  cat. 

"But,"  he  protested,  "Martin  isn't  prosecutor, 
neither  is  Apgar.  Murgatroyd  is  prosecutor, 
and " 

"Confound  the  man!"  interrupted  Broderick.  "He's 
so  straight  that  he  leans  over  backwards.  It  was  he 
who  said  six  weeks  ago  that  the  Tweedale  suicide  was 
the  last  straw ;  that  if  another  fracas  occurred  inside 
of  Cradlebaugh's  it  would  be  good-bye  to  Cradle- 
baugh's.  And  now  there's  this  blamed  murder !" 

Thorne  looked  Broderick  in  the  eye  for  a  moment 
and  asked : — 

"Do  you  know  that  this  murder  happened  inside  of 
Cradlebaugh's?" 

"No ;  but  I'm  satisfied  it  did." 

"Have  you  talked  to  Pemmican?" 

Broderick  stared  in  surprise. 

"No;  but  haven't  you?" 

Thorne  shook  his  head. 

"You  forget  that  I  waited  here  for  you.  Now  that 
you're  here,  my  idea  is  to  see  Pemmican  and  get  the 
facts." 

"The  captain  of  the  Precinct  will  be  there," 

explained  Broderick.  "He  understands  that  you're 
counsel  for  Cradlebaugh's — see?" 


THE  RED  MOUSE  57 

"Come  on,"  repeated  Thorne;  "we'll  go  and  see 
Pemmican." 

Broderick  remained  seated.  Presently  he  said  hesi 
tatingly  :— 

"Just  a  second,  counsellor — I  wish  you'd  draw  a 
cheque  for  five  for  me." 

"Dollars?" 

"No." 

"Hundreds?" 

"No." 

"Five  thousand !"  Thorne  whistled.  "Coming  it  just 
a  bit  strong,  Broderick." 

Broderick  vigorously  shook  his  head. 

"Now,  look  here,  Thorne,  I've  got  no  complaint  to 
make  of  you,  and  you've  got  no  complaint  to  make  of 
me.  You've  paid  me  well,  but  you've  had  blamed  good 
returns  for  it,  haven't  you  ?  Come  now !" 

"Yes,"  admitted  Thorne.    "But " 

"No  buts,"  interrupted  Broderick.  "This  is  a 
crisis." 

Thorne  drew  down  the  corners  of  his  mouth. 

"Do  you  think  that  I  don't  know  it's  a  crisis?"  He 
went  back  to  his  desk,  drew  forth  a  cheque-book  and 
wrote  a  cheque.  Before  passing  it  over  to  Broderick, 
he  looked  him  squarely  in  the  eye,  and  added : — 

"Peter,  I've  always  paid  you  by  cheque  and  taken 
your  receipt." 


68  THE  RED  MOUSE 

"Sure!"  returned  Broderick.  "I'm  no  office-holder. 
You  could  publish  it  in  the  newspapers;  nobody 
could  find  fault." 

"The  point  is,"  continued  Thorne,  referring  to  a 
memorandum,  "that  I've  passed  over  to  you  a  sight  of 
money." 

"And  you  got  a  sight  of  influence  in  return,"  re 
torted  Broderick. 

Thorne  passed  over  the  five  thousand  dollar  cheque, 
seized  Broderick  by  the  arm,  marched  him  out,  then  he 
began  to  relieve  his  mind. 

"Broderick,  I  want  more  influence.  I've  got  a  pet 
scheme,  a  great  ambition  that  is  overweening,  over 
whelming.  It  won't  down ;  it  owns  me  body  and  soul." 
He  paused  a  moment  before  finally  coming  to  the 
point.  "I  want  some  day  to  sit  in  the  Senate  of  the 
United  States." 

"Phew!"  whistled  Broderick.  "Nothing  stingy 
about  you!" 

"I  shall  want  every  iota  of  your  influence,"  Thorne 
went  on ;  "I  shall  need  it.  And,  Peter,  I  want  to  know 
whether  I'm  going  to  have  it.  I  want  to  know  that 
now." 

Broderick  stopped  him  in  the  middle  of  the  sidewalk 
and  shook  him  by  the  hand. 

"Thorne,"  he  exclaimed,  "there  isn't  a  man  I'd  rather 
send  to  the  United  States  Senate  than  you !  I  mean  it ; 


THE  RED  MOUSE  59 

there's  my  hand  on  it."  And  pushing  Thome  into  the 
waiting  taxicab  he  commanded  the  driver  to  take  them 
to  Cradlebaugh's  back  entrance. 

"Quick  as  you  can !"  he  added,  as  they  drove  off. 

Once  in  Cradlebaugh's,  the  domineering  influence  of 
Broderick  again  asserted  itself. 

"Where's  Pemmican?"  he  inquired  gruffly;  and  with 
out  waiting  for  an  answer:  "send  him  along  right 
away !" 

The  liveried  man  who  did  his  bidding  bowed  a  bit 
familiarly  to  him,  but  very  deferentially  to  Thorne. 
The  latter  he  knew  as  a  patron  of  the  place,  but  one 
who  did  not  play. 

Almost  instantly  Pemmican  came.  His  face  was 
haggard,  pale,  his  eyes  heavy  with  sleeplessness,  and 
upon  him  generally  was  the  air  of  a  man  who  had 
passed  through  some  nightmare  that  with  the  dawn 
had  turned  out  to  be  hideously  true.  He  took  them  at 
once  to  the  private  room  where  the  captain  of  police 
was  waiting. 

"Captain,"  said  Broderick,  "this  is  my  counsel.  He's 
a  rattler  for  advice  when  a  man's  in  a  tight  hole,  and 
I  thought  I'd  just  fetch  him  along.  Captain  Whally 
— Counsellor  Thorne."  And  turning  at  once  upon 
Pemmican,  Broderick  proceeded  to  interrogate 
him. 

"Now  just  where  did  this  thing  happen?" 


60  THE  RED  MOUSE 

Pemmican  looked  at  the  captain,  at  Broderick  anc! 
then  at  Thorne  before  answering.  Then  he  said: — 

"Room  A." 

"Then  it  was  pulled  off  in  here?" 

"Yes." 

"And  how  did  he  get  out  there  on  the  street?" 

Pemmican  rubbed  his  hands  together,  looking  first  to 
Thorne  and  then  to  the  captain  for  approval. 

"I  dragged  him  out." 

"Good  work!"  was  Broderick's  brief  comment. 

"Who  did  this  thing?"  asked  Thorne. 

Pemmican  gulped.    After  a  second  he  answered : — 

"Challoner." 

"Laurie  Challoner?  You  don't  say!"  ejaculated 
Broderick.  That  was  all  the  surprise  manifested. 
Challoner's  proclivities  were  too  well  known  to  every 
body  in  the  room;  besides,  Cradlebaugh's  was  always 
expecting  the  unexpected  to  happen. 

"Challoner,"  exclaimed  Thorne  with  a  show  of  satis 
faction,  "is  a  client  of  mine!" 

Broderick's  eyes  brightened. 

"Great!  That  simplifies  matters.  You'll  defend 
him?" 

"I  shall,"  admitted  Thorne,  "if  he  be  apprehended." 

"But  we  must  fix  it  so  that  he  won't  be,"  remarked 
Broderick. 

"Or,  if  apprehended,"  continued  Thorne,  "so  that  he 


THE  RED  MOUSE  61 

won't  be  brought  to  trial."  And  turning  again  to 
Pemmican:  "Where  is  Challoner?" 

Pemmican  spread  his  hands  apart,  shrugged  his 
shoulders  and  finally  answered: — 

"Gone — nobody  knows  where." 

Just  then  the  telephone  bell  rang.  Pemmican  an 
swered  it,  listened  for  an  instant  and  then  resigned  the 
receiver  as  he  called : — 

"Captain,  it's  for  you." 

The  captain  with  some  trepidation  seized  the  instru 
ment,  and  talked  in  low  tones  while  the  rest  remained 
silent.  Finally  he  hung  up  the  receiver  and  an 
nounced  : — 

"It's  my  office.  Murgatroyd  is  there  now."  The  cap 
tain  looked  worried  as  he  declared :  "He  wants  to  talk 
to  me." 

"Let  him  wait !"  Broderick  blustered  out.  Neverthe 
less  a  shadowy  gloom  settled  down  upon  them  all. 
Thorne  was  the  first  to  break  the  silence. 

"If  Murgatroyd  drags  Cradlebaugh's  into  this  mur 
der  case  there'll  be  the  devil  to  pay." 

"He's  got  to  keep  it  out,"  insisted  Broderick.  "Con 
found  it !  If  he  drags  Cradlebaugh's  into  it,  he'll  drag 
into  it  his  own  organisation!  He  doesn't  know  the 
men  who  are  behind  it — its  party  affiliations,  its  pa 
trons.  If  he  makes  this  case  a  handle  for  his  con 
founded  investigations — well " 


62  THE  RED  MOUSE 

"He  will!"  interrupted  the  captain  of  police.  "See 
if  he  don't  ..." 

"What  if  he  does?"  protested  Broderick.  "There 
isn't  a  grand  jury  ever  been  picked  that  would  indict 
Cradlebaugh's !  And  there  you  are !" 

"So  long  as  public  opinion  don't  get  to  work,"  ven 
tured  the  captain. 

Broderick  started. 

"You've  hit  the  nail  upon  the  head,  captain,"  he  as 
sented,  as  he  smote  the  table  with  his  clenched  fist. 
"That's  why  I'm  worried.  If  public  opinion  gets  to 
work,  why  say,  it  will " 

"Keep  cool  now,  keep  cool,"  counselled  Thome.  "I'll 
see  Murgatroyd,"  he  went  on ;  "this  is  the  time  of  all 
times  that  he's  got  to  do  what  we  tell  him  to  do ;  and 
if  he  don't — we'll  break  him  on  the  wheel !" 

Thorne  smiled  and  jerked  his  head  toward  Pemmican. 

"We  even  have  the  sole  witness  to  this  tragedy  in  the 
hollow  of  our  hands." 

There  was  a  gentle  tap  on  the  door.  Pemmican 
opened  it  and  held  a  whispered  conversation  with  one 
of  the  attendants  of  the  house.  Then  he  came  back 
into  the  room  and  looking  at  the  captain,  he  said: — 

"They  say  downstairs  that  two  of  the  prosecutor's 
men  were  seen  leaving  the  'Elevated'  a  few  minutes 
ago,  and  that  they  were  working  their  way  over  to  the 
West." 


THE  RED  MOUSE  63 

"Jumpin'  Jerusalem!"  exclaimed  the  captain,  leap 
ing  to  his  feet.  "They're  coming  here.  That  ends 
me — I'm  off!"  He  caught  up  his  cap  and  disap 
peared. 

Pemmican  once  more  locked  the  door;  then  Brod- 
erick  resumed  the  conversation. 

"By  George,  that's  so !"  he  said  to  Thome.  "Pem 
mican  is  the  witness ;  we  can  keep  him  muzzled." 

Pemmican  edged  forward  from  his  position  near  the 
wall.  Advancing  to  the  table  he  placed  both  hands 
upon  it  and  looked  at  the  two  men  belligerently. 

"But  you  won't  keep  me  muzzled  1"  he  exclaimed. 

Broderick  gasped: 

"W— what?" 

Pemmican  drew  himself  together.     Hitherto  his  at 
titude   had   been   one    of    fearful    deference    toward 
Thorne ;  now  he  was  defiant. 
"You  can't  keep  me  muzzled!"  he  repeated. 

Broderick  took  a  long  breath  and  rose  as  though  to 
throttle  Pemmican.  Thorne  waved  him  to  his  seat. 

"Pemmican,"  said  Thorne,  "you  need  some  sleep." 

"I  don't  need  sleep  nor  coaching  either,"  retorted 
Pemmican.  "I'm  going  to  tell  the  truth  about  this 
murder." 

"Well,"  said  Broderick  soothingly ;  "you've  told  it — 
to  us." 

Thorne  fastened  Pemmican  with  his  cold,  penetrating 


64  THE  RED  MOUSE 

glance  of  displeasure.  Pemmican  shivered,  but  was 
game. 

"This  murder,"  Pemmican  maintained  desperately, 
"was  committed  by  Challoner  in  Room  A  of  this  gam 
bling  house !  I  don't  care  if  the  house  does  pay  me  my 
salary,  I  don't  care  if  I  am  in  charge  here,  the  house 
can't  make  me  lie!"  He  paused  for  a  moment  and 
then  went  on : — 

"This  killing  followed  a  row  over  a  game  of  cards. 
I  heard  the  row;  I  saw  the  shooting;  and  it's  up  to 
me  to  lay  my  cards  down  on  the  table.  I'll  give  up 
what  I  know!" 

"You'll  do  nothing  of  the  sort!"  said  Thorne 
threateningly. 

"I'll  do  nothing  else!"  retorted  Pemmican  hotly. 

"If  Murgatroyd  comes  here,"  suggested  Broderick, 
"or  sends  for  you,  you  keep  mum — do  you  under 
stand?  That's  your  game!  We'll  take  care  of  you 
the  same  as  we  are  going  to  take  care  of  the  captain. 
He's  true  blue ;  and  you've  got  to  be  true  blue."  And 
pointing  toward  Thorne,  he  added : — 

"There's  Thorne — he's  your  counsel,  too.  You  do 
as  he  says,  and  he'll  take  care  of  you." 

"I  can  take  care  of  myself,"  returned  Pemmican, 
doggedly,  "and  I'm  going  to  do  it.  I'm  going  to  tell 
the  truth  about  this  thing  to  Murgatroyd !" 

There  was  another  knock  upon  the  door — a  short, 


THE  RED  MOUSE  65 

sharp,  curt,  commanding  knock.     Pemmican  sprang 
to  the  door,  unlocked  it  and  threw  it  open. 

Three  men  entered:  One  was  Mixley;  another 
McGrath — both  detectives  in  the  employ  of  the  prose 
cutor's  office  in  the  court-house ;  and  the  third  man  was 
William  Murgatroyd,  the  newly  elected  prosecutor  of 
the  pleas. 


THE  yellow  light  of  the  early  June  afternoon  grew 
softer  as  it  sank  into,  and  was  absorbed  by,  the  deepen 
ing  dusk ;  but  to  Miriam  Challoner,  propped  up  with 
red  silk  cushions  in  a  strange  attitude  of  expectancy, 
these  things  had  ceased  to  matter;  for  out  of  her 
life  a  living  presence  had  gone,  leaving  a  void  more 
harsh  than  death.  For  weeks  now  she  had  patiently 
waited,  her  ear  strained  at  every  sound,  trying  to  as 
sociate  it  somehow  with  her  husband's  return ;  the  ser 
vants  seemed  to  tread  on  tiptoe,  as  they  went  about 
their  duties ;  the  house  was  curiously  hushed  as  though 
listening,  always  listening. 

The  room  that  she  was  in  was  beautifully  propor 
tioned  and  panelled  in  dull  red;  there  were  numerous 
divans  well  furnished  with  cushions  and  upholstered 
in  the  same  hue  as  the  walls ;  and  as  her  eyes  wandered 
over  its  rare  pictures,  bronzes  and  costly  knick-knacks, 
she  was  reminded  of  the  early  days  of  her  married  life, 
when  it  had  been  her  purpose  to  make  this — Law 
rence's  room — as  attractive  and  pleasing  to  him  as 
money  could  make  it.  Fate,  indeed,  had  played  havoc 
with  their  lives ;  nothing  was  left  but  the  memory  of 
the  happiness  that  once  had  been  hers. 

"Oh,  why  doesn't  he  come!"  she  cried,  an  agony  of 


THE  RED  MOUSE  67 

idespair  in  her  voice,  and  began  to  pace  the  room  in 
nervous  agitation. 

At  that  moment  a  man  noiselessly  entered  the  room. 
She  did  not  hear  him  until,  suddenly  looking  round, 
she  saw  Stevens,  the  butler,  advancing  respectfully 
toward  her.  For  an  instant  it  startled  her;  disap 
pointment  and  embarrassment  struggled  within  her; 
finally  she  asked  somewhat  fretfully : — 

"What  are  you  doing  here,  Stevens — I  did  not  ring 

J 5> 

Stevens  held  the  silver  salver  before  her,  on  which 
were  several  letters.  Taking  them  apathetically  from 
him,  she  sank  back  limp  among  the  cushions,  her 
nerves  on  edge  as  she  proceeded  to  scan  each  in  turn. 
There  were  nine  in  all — the  last  of  which  she  quickly 
tore  open  as  the  sole  missive  fraught  with  possibility. 
But  she  was  doomed  to  disappointment ;  and  handing 
them  back  to  him,  she  told  him  to  put  them  on  the  desk. 

The  man  complied,  and  then  stood  quietly  at  atten 
tion. 

"And,  Stevens,"  she  added  falteringly,  "send  Foster 
to  me  at  once." 

Stevens  turned  on  the  instant  and  found  Foster  in 
a  passage-way,  shuddering. 

"What's  the  matter  with  you?"  he  whispered,  at  the 
same  time  placing  his  arm  about  her. 

"What  are  you  doing?"  exclaimed  Foster  with  in- 


68  THE  RED  MOUSE 

dignation,  but  made  no  attempt  to  release  herself 
from  his  embrace.  "Don't  you  hear  the  newsboys? 
What  are  they  saying?"  she  went  on,  nestling  closer  to 
him.  "Listen!" 

They  did  not  have  long  to  wait,  for  just  then  the 
hoarse,  raucous  voices  of  the  newsboys  calling  early 
specials  reached  their  ears ;  but  such  words  as  were 
at  first  distinguishable  seemed  of  no  importance  to 
them.  Then  like  a  bolt  from  the  blue  rang  out  the 
words : 

CHALLONER 

CAUGHT  IN  CHICAGO! 

"They've  caught  him!"  the  maid  almost  shrieked, 
pushing  Stevens  violently  away  from  her;  and  start 
ing  in  obedience  to  her  mistress'  commands,  she  added 
sympathetically : — 

"I  hope  she  hasn't  heard " 

And  as  fortune  would  have  it  Mrs.  Challoner  had  not 
heard,  but  went  on  to  inform  the  maid  that  she  was 
going  to  her  room  to  lie  down  for  a  while,  ending 
with : — 

"There  are  some  things  which  I  wish  you  to  attend  to 
first,  Foster." 

On  reaching  her  room,  however,  Mrs.  Challoner 
abandoned  her  intention  to  lie  down ;  apparently  calm 
and  collected,  she  took  a  seat  near  the  light  and  started 


THE  RED  MOUSE  69 

mentally  to  place  her  house  once  more  in  order.  Item 
after  item  she  checked  off  from  her  memorandum  upon 
her  household  pad  until  at  last,  with  her  finger  upon 
one  hasty  entry,  she  looked  up  and  said : — 

"Foster,  ask  Stevens  if  the  stone  masons  have  finished 
patching  up  the  cellar  wall;  and  then  you  may  fetch 
me  those  letters  I  left  on  Mr.  Challoner's  desk." 

Meanwhile,  the  French  window  looking  on  the  rear 
porch  in  Challoner's  room  slowly  opened,  and  a  man 
quickly  but  stealthily  entered,  directed  his  steps  to 
the  table-desk,  switched  on  the  green-shaded  light 
there,  picked  up  several  letters  and  proceeded  to  scan 
each  carefully  in  turn — just  as  Mrs.  Challoner  had 
done  a  few  moments  previous.  Suddenly  the  sound  of 
footsteps  reached  his  ears,  and  with  the  same  move 
ment  that  characterised  his  entrance  he  retreated  to 
the  balcony  and  disappeared,  leaving  the  French  win 
dow  open  behind  him.  The  night  was  cool,  there  was 
a  strong  breeze  from  the  east,  and  the  chill,  spring  air 
poured  into  the  room. 

When  Foster  came  into  the  room  a  little  while  later, 
she  saw  at  once  that  the  green-shaded  light  on  the 
table-desk  had  been  switched  on,  and  that  the  letters 
that  her  mistress  sent  for  were  not  there.  Then  all 
of  a  sudden  she  noticed  that  the  window  was  open  and 
there  was  a  general  air  of  mystery  about  the  room. 
She  fled  into  the  hall  and  called: — 


70  THE  RED  MOUSE 

"Stevens !    Stevens !" 

Stevens,  who  dogged  the  maid's  footsteps  and  who 
was  generally  to  be  found  in  her  vicinity,  was  soon  on 
the  scene. 

"See!  The  window's  open!"  she  whispered  trem 
blingly. 

Stevens  shook  his  head. 

"I  locked  it  myself,"  he  said,  going  over  to  it  to  ex 
amine  the  lock. 

"It  has  been  forced,"  he  informed  her,  and  beckoned 
to  her  to  come  and  look  at  it. 

With  the  gloom  which  the  newsboys'  cry  had  cast 
over  them,  the  sight  of  the  broken  fastening  filled 
them  with  horror. 

"Who  did  it?"  wailed  Foster. 

Stevens  stepped  out  upon  the  porch;  there  was  no 
one  there.  He  glanced  into  the  restricted  space  be 
low;  he  saw  nothing,  heard  nothing.  So  he  stepped 
back  into  the  room  and  closed  the  window,  and  looked 
at  Foster  with  significance.  Finally  he  answered: — 

"One  of  those  stone  masons  must  have  done  it.  He 
looked  queer,  acted  queer ;  that  is,  to  me." 

Foster  caught  him  by  the  arm. 

"Could  he  have  anything  to  do — with  the  case?"  she 
gulped. 

Stevens  pointed  hastily  about  the  room  at  various  ob 
jects  of  value  easily  appropriated. 


THE  RED  MOUSE  71 

"Just  like  as  not,"  he  answered.  "If  it  was  a  thief, 
he'd  have  taken  that  an'  that  an'  that " 

"Isn't  it  terrible !"  gasped  Foster ;  "and  isn't  it  shiv 
ery  and  cold !"  She  seized  a  match,  crossed  over  to  the 
fireplace  and  lit  the  fire. 

"What's  that?"  she  started  suddenly. 

There  was  an  almost  unheard  tinkle  of  an  altogether 
unseen  bell;  and  before  its  sound  died  away  Stevens 
had  stolen  from  the  room  and  plunged  almost  head 
long  down  the  stairs.  Foster  quickly  followed  him  to 
the  door,  where  she  encountered  Mrs.  Challoner  com 
ing  down  the  hall. 

"I  thought  I  heard  the  door-bell  just  now?"  she 
asked;  for  while  oblivious  to  the  noises  of  the  street, 
there  was  little  that  occurred  indoors  these  days  that 
escaped  her  notice. 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  Foster  stammered;  "Stevens  is  an 
swering  it." 

One  glance  at  the  maid's  face,  however,  had  sufficed 
to  convince  her  mistress  that  something  had  hap 
pened  ;  and  for  a  moment  it  took  all  the  courage  she 
could  summon  to  her  aid  to  keep  her  from  breaking 
down  completely. 

"What  is  it  ?  Speak !"  she  exclaimed  in  a  tremulous 
voice ;  and  then  without  waiting  for  an  answer,  for  the 
sound  of  voices  in  the  hall  below  reached  her  ears :  "If 
that's  somebody  to  see  me,  I  don't  want  to  see  them — 


72  THE  RED  MOUSE 

I  don't  want  to  see  anybody — I  can't  see  anybody — 
I  won't !  .  .  .  "  she  ended  almost  hysterically ; 
and  gathering  her  trailing  skirts  in  her  hands,  she 
fled  to  her  room. 

But  no  sooner  had  she  reached  the  door  than  Shirley 
Bloodgood  followed  on  her  heels. 

"It's  I,  Miriam,"  she  began;  "and  how  are  you, 
dear?"  And  without  further  ceremony  she  pulled  off 
her  gloves,  tossed  off  her  hat  and  planted  herself  in  a 
chair. 

"I  just  simply  couldn't  stay  away  from  you  any 
longer,"  she  declared.  "I  know  you  don't  want  me 
here,  but  I  can't  leave  you." 

Miriam  Challoner  sank  weakly  at  a  table  and  covered 
her  face  with  her  hands.  Alone  with  the  servants,  she 
had  borne  up,  but  in  the  presence  of  the  strong,  sym 
pathetic  girl,  Mrs.  Challoner's  courage  vanished.  Fi 
nally  she  leaned  toward  her  visitor,  and  asked,  a  world 
of  pathos  in  the  question : — 

"Is — is  there  any  news  outside?" 

Shirley  glanced  at  the  fire  sputtering  in  the  grate ; 
she  hesitated  imperceptibly,  then  she  answered : — 

"None — I — I  haven't  seen  the  papers — no,  there's 
nothing  new." 

Mrs.  Challoner  rose,  staggered  across  the  room  to 
the  girl  and  threw  her  arms  about  her. 

"Shirley,  Shirley,  I'd  have  gone  mad,  I  think,  if  you 


THE  RED  MOUSE  73 

hadn't  come !"  she  cried,  and  fell  to  sobbing ;  but  after 
a  moment  she  straightened  up  again.  There  was  a 
defiant  look  in  her  face  now,  a  tremor  in  the  voice  that 
said:  "I  don't  care  what  he's  done — I  want  Laurie  to 
come  back,  do  you  understand?  I  want  him  back — I 
want  him  .  .  .  ' 

Shirley  Bloodgood  bit  her  lips. 

"I  know,  I  know,  Miriam — I  do  understand " 

"Oh,  but  you  can't  understand,"  she  persisted ;  "you 
haven't  a  husband  and  you  don't  know  .  .  .  ' 

"Yes,  yes,  Miriam,  I  know,"  were  the  only  words  that 
rose  to  the  girl's  lips  to  comfort  her,  for  at  that  mo 
ment  the  faint  sound  of  the  insistent  door-bell  broke 
in  upon  them. 

Mrs.  Challoner's  slight  frame  shook  with  sudden  agi 
tation  as  she  exclaimed : — 

"That  door-bell  will  drive  me  crazy!"  And  almost 
instantly  recovering  her  composure  she  gasped : — 

"If  it  should  be  Laurie !" 

The  girl  glanced  at  the  smouldering  fire  in  the 
grate,  where  to  her  excited  fancy  in  all  their 
hideousness  rose  before  her  the  headlines  she  had 
read  in  the  evening  papers:  "Challoner  Caught  In 
Chicago !" 

"It  isn't  Laurie,"  Miriam  went  on;  "no,  of  course 
not ;  but  whoever  it  is,  Shirley,  you  must  see  them  for 
me — unless  it  should  be  — "  she  faltered.  "Then  come 


74  THE  RED  MOUSE 

back,  but  don't  leave  me  to-night — you'll  stay,  won't 
you  ?" 

"Yes,"  the  girl  assured  her.  "But  you  must  prom 
ise  me  that  you'll  rest  for  a  little  while — there — on 
that  sofa.  Then  we'll  have  a  bite  together,  and " 

Without  a  word  Miriam  Challoner  went  over  to  the 
sofa,  and  soon  gave  way  to  the  first  sleep  she  had  had 
in  many  days. 

"How  are  we  ever  going  to  break  the  news  to  her," 
sighed  Shirley,  as  she  noiselessly  crept  from  the  room. 
Just  ouside  of  the  door  she  encountered  Stevens,  and 
quickly  placing  her  finger  on  her  lips,  she  motioned 
him  to  be  silent.  When  they  were  well  out  of  hearing 
he  announced  in  a  confidential  tone : — 

"Mr.  Murgatroyd,  Miss  Bloodgood." 

"Mr.  Murgatroyd!  William  Murgatroyd?  What 
does  he  want,  Stevens?"  She  was  plainly  excited. 

"Sh-h-h !"  warned  Stevens  gently ;  "he's  the  prosecu 
tor  of  the  pleas." 

"Oh,  then  it  is  Mr.  William  Murgatroyd.  But  what 
does  he  want?" 

Stevens  shook  his  head,  for  they  were  now  well  in 
hearing.  The  next  moment  Shirley  Bloodgood  had 
entered  the  drawing-room  and  stood  gazing  into  the 
face  of  William  Murgatroyd. 

For  an  instant  the  man  started  back ;  he  could  not 
believe  his  own  eyes. 


THE  RED  MOUSE  75 

"Shirley  Bloodgood!"  The  name  fell  incredulously 
from  his  lips.  "You  here?" 

Shirley  held  out  her  hand. 

"And  you — what  are  you  doing  here?"  she  asked 
quickly.  "I  didn't  know  that  you  were  a  friend  of  the 
family?" 

Tall,  well-built,  with  a  smooth-shaven  face,  a  square 
chin  and  a  nose  that  stood  well  out  into  the  air,  Mur- 
gatroyd  was  a  man  who  appeared  to  be  without  en 
thusiasm;  but  although  sharp  and  business-like,  his 
manner  was  easy.  Turning  to  Shirley,  he  came  to  the 
point  at  once. 

"I  want  to  see  Mrs.  Challoner,"  he  announced. 
"But  I'm  glad  you're  here,  for  I  don't  know  her  very 
well,  and — 

"You  can't  very  well  see  her  now,"  Shirley 
interrupted,  shaking  her  head.  "She's  fright 
fully  unstrung — she's  ill.  You  know  it's  al 
most  three  weeks  now  since  Laurie  first  went  away, 
and " 

"I  know,"  he  broke  in  just  a  bit  impatiently. 

"What?"  Shirley  gasped,  the  truth  at  last  dawning 
upon  her ;  "you  don't  mean  to  say  that  you're  here  in 
— in  your  official  capacity?" 

Murgatroyd  smiled  grimly. 

"It's  the  only  capacity  in  which  I'm  likely  to  be  here, 
Shirley,"  he  reminded  her. 


76  THE  RED  MOUSE 

"But,"  she  protested,  "I  thought  they  left  these 
things  to " 

"The  police,"  he  finished;  and  again  smiled  grimly. 
"They  do,  but  there  are  reasons —  You  see,"  he  went 
on  to  explain,  "since  I  was  appointed  prosecutor  of 
the  pleas,  I've  turned  up  a  thing  or  two  in  the  Police 
Department,  and,  well,  the  Police  Department  and  I 
are  somewhat  out  of  tune.  This  case  they  have  put 
up  to  me  and  my  men " 

"Surely  you  can't  mean  to  imply  that  you  have  to 
do  this  kind  of  thing  yourself?"  The  girl  looked 
askance. 

Murgatroyd  raised  his  eyebrows. 

"Yes,  it's  up  to  me    ..." 

Shirley  shifted  her  position.  She  didn't  like  Murga 
troyd  in  this  new  role,  and  yet  there  was  something  in 
the  grim  determination  of  the  man  that  pleased 
her. 

"I  am  sorry  to  remind  you,"  he  went  on,  the  full  re 
sponsibility  of  his  office  upon  him,  "that  I  am  here  to 
see  Mrs.  Challoner ;  to  find  out  where  Challoner  is ;  to 
.  persuade  her  to  persuade  him  to  come  back."  Murga 
troyd  chopped  out  the  sentences  as  though  he  were 
a  machine. 

"Then  he  wasn't  caught  in  Chicago !"  Shirley  ex 
claimed  almost  jubilantly;  and  then  touching  him  on 
the  arm  a  bit  familiarly,  she  added : — 


THE  RED  MOUSE  77 

"Billy,  you  don't  really  believe  that  Laurie  murdered 
Colonel  Hargraves?" 

Murgatroyd  laughed  a  short  laugh. 

"If  I  didn't  know  you,  Shirley,  I  should  imagine  you 
were  sparring  for  time  .  .  .  If  I  didn't  know 
you  I  wouldn't  answer  your  questions.  As  it 
is,  I  must  answer  them  in  the  same  way  that  I 
would  do  anything  you  asked  of  me — short  of 
crime." 

"If  you  put  it  that  way,"  returned  Shirley,  drawing 
away  from  him,  her  tone  growing  cold,  "you  needn't 
answer  me  at  all." 

Murgatroyd  did  not  heed  her. 

"I  don't  know,"  he  went  on  evasively,  "whether  Chal- 
loner  murdered  Hargraves  or  not." 

"You  don't  know   ..." 

"No,"  returned  the  prosecutor ;  "so  far  the  evidence 
is  purely  circumstantial." 

Shirley  Bloodgood  had  been  hanging  on  his  words. 
She  drew  a  long  breath  and  echoed  excitedly:  "Cir 
cumstantial — "  There  was  a  flicker  of  a  smile  on  her 
face  as  she  added: — 

"Then  the  newspapers  were  wrong  when  they  said  it 
was  a  certainty !"  .  .  . 

Murgatroyd  held  up  his  hand  and  went  on  to  ex 
plain  : — 

"What  I  tell  you  is  confidential — you  understand?" 


78  THE  RED  MOUSE 

"Yes,  yes,"  she  said  impatiently ;  "but  tell  me  about 
it — the  real  facts — that  is,  if  you  can." 

"There's  no  reason  why  I  shouldn't,  I  suppose,"  said 
the  prosecutor  of  the  pleas.  "The  real  facts  as  we  have 
them  .  .  .  as  we  have  them,  mind,  are  simple.  Chal- 
loner  quarrelled  with  Colonel  Hargraves " 

"What  about?"  asked  Shirley  impulsively. 

Murgatroyd  flushed. 

"That  makes  no  difference,"  he  answered  with  some 
confusion;  "the  point  is  that  they  were  enemies.  It 
was  a  quarrel  in  which  the  passions  of  each  were 
roused  to  the  utmost.  To  make  a  long  story  short, 
Colonel  Hargraves  won  ten  thousand  dollars  at 
Gravesend — the  men  met  in  Cradlebaugh's — another 
quarrel  followed " 

"And  then?" 

"Then,"  went  on  the  prosecutor,  "they  parted.  That 
was  all — save  at  two  o'clock  next  morning  Hargraves 
was  found  in  the  street  back  of  Cradlebaugh's  with  a 
bullet  through  his  heart." 

Shirley  was  quivering  with  suppressed  excitement; 
nevertheless,  she  managed  to  ask : — 

"What  does  that  prove?" 

"Nothing — only  a  man  named  Pemmican  of  Cradle 
baugh's  witnessed  both  quarrels — and  Challoner  has 
run  away.  Looks  bad  for  Challoner,  I  should 
say." 


THE  RED  MOUSE  79 

"But,"  persisted  Shirley,  "surely  that  evidence  is  not 
conclusive  .  .  .  ' 

"One  moment,  please,"  went  on  the  prosecutor 
calmly ;  "Hargraves  had  the  ten  thousand  dollars  in 
cash  with  him,  and " 

"That  is  conclusive,"  she  commented.  "Surely  you 
don't  think  Lawrence  would  steal  ?" 

Prosecutor  Murgatroyd  paused  for  an  instant  and 
placed  finger-tip  against  finger-tip,  then  he  answered 
slowly : — 

"Frankly  speaking,  I  do.  I  believe,"  he  went  on, 
speaking  as  though  with  conviction,  "that  Challoner 
would  do  anything." 

Shirley  shook  her  head. 

"It's  impossible!  Why,  the  Challoners  have  any 
amount  of  money !" 

Murgatroyd  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"Challoner's  wife  has,  but " 

"It's  the  same  thing,"  Shirley  protested;  "and  she 
just  adores  him — you  do  not  know  how  much  she 
adores  him,  Billy !" 

Again  Murgatroyd  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"But  how  about  him?" 

The  girl  shook  her  head  and  answered  somewhat 
sadly : — 

"I  know,  I  know,  she's  blind  to  everything,  Miriam 
is  . 


80  THE  RED  MOUSE 

Once  more  she  placed  her  hand  on  Murgatroyd's  arm, 
unconsciously,  impersonally  but  impulsively. 

"Oh,  it's  perfectly  dreadful,  the  whole  thing !" 

Unwittingly,  Murgatroyd  changed  his  mood  to  meet 
hers. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "to  have  ruined  himself  like  this! 
It's  a  tragedy  to  see  a  man  like  Challoner  go 
down  hill.  In  the  old  days  he  was  such  a  decent 
chap." 

"You  were  a  friend  of  his,  weren't  you  ?" 

"Yes,  before  he  married,  when  he  was  poor  and  decent 
like  the  rest  of  us — yes,  I  was  a  friend  of  his." 

Shirley  Bloodgood  drew  her  brows  together. 

"Indeed!  You  must  have  been  a  good  friend  to  let 
him  take  his  downward  course." 

For  an  instant  this  imputation  seemed  to  rest  heavily 
on  Murgatroyd's  shoulders;  but  he  cast  it  from  him 
quickly  with  a  sigh,  and  answered: — 

"A  man's  best  friends  are  like  a  man's  good  wife; 
they  do  not  desert  him,  whatever  happens ;  he  deserts 
them.  And  so  it  was  with  Challoner." 

"And  so  at  the  last  he  has  no  friends  ?" 

"Evidently  not,  save  a  flock  of  vampires  that  feed 
upon  his  purse  and  will  continue  to  feed  so  long  as  he 
has  a  purse."  He  pulled  out  his  watch.  "But,"  he 
protested,  "I  am  wasting  time — I —  Oh,  pardon  me," 
he  quickly  corrected,  flushing  with  embarrassment,  "I 


THE  RED  MOUSE  81 

did  not  mean  my  time,  exactly ;  but  frankly,  I  must  see 
Mrs.  Challoner." 

Shirley  shook  her  head. 

"Miriam  Challoner  is  ill,  much  too  ill  to  see  any  one. 
She  gave  orders " 

"Excuse  me,  but  Mrs.  Challoner  is  not  too  ill,"  per 
sisted  Murgatroyd,  "to  walk  from  room  to  room.  My 
men  have  seen  her  through  the  windows.  I  wish  you 
would  say  to  her,  please,  that  I  must  see  her." 

Seeing  the  futility  of  resisting  further,  Shirley  made 
a  movement  to  go. 

"Oh,  I  can't  tell  her!"  she  cried.  "I'll  ring  for 
Stevens."  She  rang.  "Stevens,"  she  said,  as  he  came 
into  the  room,  "will  you  tell  your  mistress —  Oh,  I 
can't — I  can't,"  she  faltered. 

Murgatroyd  stepped  into  the  breach. 

"I  am  the  prosecutor  of  the  pleas,"  he  said  to  Ste 
vens,  "tell  her  that,  and  that  I'm  sorry  to  disturb  her, 
but  I  must  see  her." 

The  servant  left  the  room.  Shirley  sank  into  a  chair 
and  half  covered  her  face  with  her  hands. 

"I  don't  believe — I  never  will  believe  that  Lawrence 
did  these  things !" 

There  was  a  pause.  After  a  moment  Murgatroyd 
remarked  half  aloud: — 

"There  is  but  one  way  to  reform  a  man  like 
that " 


82  THE  RED  MOUSE 

The  prosecutor  did  not  finish,  for  standing  in  the 
doorway  was  Miriam  Challoner,  pale  as  a  ghost,  a 
look  of  interrogation  in  her  eyes.  Shirley  ran  quickly 
to  her. 

"Miriam,  dear,  I  didn't  send  for  you !"  she  cried, 
placing  an  arm  around  her.  "It  was  Mr.  Murga- 
troyd  ..." 

Mrs.  Challoner  bowed  and  smiled  faintly. 

"I  believe  I  have  met  Mr.  Murgatroyd  before,"  she 
said  with  a  grace  peculiarly  her  own. 

Murgatroyd  returned  her  greeting  with : — 

"I  need  not  assure  you,  Mrs.  Challoner,  that  this  is  a 
very  painful  duty." 

Mrs.  Challoner  moistened  her  lips  and  held  herself 
together  with  great  effort. 

"Please  don't  apologise,"  she  said  gently,  "I  under 
stand.  It  may  be  easier  for  me  to  have  some  one 
whom  I've  met." 

Murgatroyd  bowed;  and  placing  a  chair  for  Mrs. 
Challoner,  begged  her  to  be  seated. 

"If  you  don't  mind,  Miriam,"  spoke  up  Shirley, 
"I'll  leave  you  now,  but  if  you  need  me — call 
me." 

Miriam  clutched  the  girl  by  the  shoulder,  and  cried 
excitedly : — 

"No,  Shirley,  stay  where  you  are — I  want  you  here 
with  me !" 


THE  RED  MOUSE  83 

Murgatroyd  placed  a  chair  for  the  girl  beside  that 
of  Mrs.  Challoner ;  he  took  a  seat  opposite. 

"Mrs.  Challoner,"  he  began  in  a  voice  that  was  even 
more  gentle  than  at  any  time  before,  "believe  me  that 
I've  no  desire  to  give  you  trouble  unnecessarily." 

"Please  don't  apologise,"  Mrs.  Challoner  repeated 
holding  fast  to  Shirley,  as  though  she  pinned  her 
faith  to  that  young  woman. 

"I  shall  begin  at  the  beginning,  Mrs.  Challoner,"  he 
said.  "I  suppose,  of  course,  that  you  have  had  the 
report  that  your  husband  has  been  found  in  Chicago?" 

"What!  Found?"  To  the  great  surprise  of  the 
prosecutor  no  emotions  other  than  joy  and  relief  were 
visible  on  the  woman's  face. 

"Laurie  has  been  found!"  she  went  on.  "Thank 
heaven !  I'm  so  glad — now  he  must  come  back  home." 

"I  had  thought,"  said  the  prosecutor,  in  even,  busi 
ness-like  tones,  "that  the  news  of  his  arrest  would — 
would  have  been  an  unpleasant  shock  to  you  ... 
I  find  that  the  shock  is  yet  to  come." 

Quick  as  a  flash  Miriam  Challoner  read  the  truth  in 
the  man's  face. 

"You  don't  mean — you  can't  mean  that " 

Murgatroyd  bowed. 

"I  have  already  told  Miss  Bloodgood  that  the  re 
port  was  a  mistake.  Your  husband  was  not  arrested 
in  Chicago." 


84  THE  RED  MOUSE 

At  that  Mrs.  Challoner  really  broke  down.  She 
sobbed  silently  on  the  shoulder  of  the  girl  beside  her. 
"Oh,  Laurie,  Laurie,  then  you're  not  coming  home !" 
she  cried.  "Most  three  weeks,  Shirley,  he's  been 
away !" 

Murgatroyd  waited  patiently  until  she  had  recovered, 
never  once  forgetting  that  he  was  the  servant  of  the 
people.  His  was  a  double  duty.  He  must  apprehend 
the  guilty,  and  so  do  it  as  to  save  the  community 
great  expense.  Of  late  murders  had  been  expensive 
luxuries.  Murgatroyd  knew  that  in  this  case  he  would 
be  hampered  by  lack  of  funds. 

"Mrs.  Challoner,"  he  said  with  simple  directness,  "the 
whole  substance  of  the  matter  is  this:  I  believe — we 
believe  that  Mr.  Challoner  has  not  left  the  East,  and 
that  he  may  still  be  here  in  town — in  this  house  even." 
He  had  reseated  himself,  but  suddenly  rose  again. 

"In  this  house !"  Miriam  returned  with  a  faint  smile. 
"I  wish  he  were,  indeed  I  do  wish  he  were " 

"Mrs.  Challoner,"  the  prosecutor  went  on,  ignoring 
her  words,  "it  is  necessary  that  my  men,  now  while  I 
am  here,  while  you  are  here,  should  search  these 
premises — this  house " 

Shirley  Bloodgood  shook  herself  from  the  grasp  of 
Miriam;  she  stood  erect,  her  slender  form  tense. 

"This  is  an  imposition ;  it  is  preposterous,  Mr.  Mur 
gatroyd,  that  you  should  doubt  her  word !" 


THE  RED  MOUSE  85 

Murgatroyd  was  unmoved. 

"It  is  necessary  for  my  men  to  search  this  house," 
he  repeated;  and  not  unwisely,  for  he  well  knew  that 
there  is  something  that  brings  men — good,  bad  and 
indifferent  men — back  to  their  homes. 

But  Shirley  was  adamant. 

"No,  I  won't  allow  it !"  she  exclaimed  indignantly. 

Mrs.  Challoner  placed  a  restraining  hand  on  the  girl, 
for  Miriam  Challoner  once  more  held  a  strong  grip 
upon  herself. 

"Search  the  house  if  you  wish,  Mr.  Murgatroyd," 
she  consented;  "if  you  find  my  husband,  no  one  will 
be  more  pleased  than  I." 

Murgatroyd  left  the  room  and  returned  almost  in 
stantly  followed  by  two  men — Mixley  and  McGrath. 
It  was  one  of  these  men  a  short  while  before  who  had 
stolen  in  through  the  French  window  and  tampered 
with  the  letters  on  the  desk. 

"You  will  search  here  first,"  he  ordered ;  and  turning 
to  the  women :  "Would  you  prefer  to  go  or  stay  ?" 

"We'll  go,  of  course,"  Shirley  flung  at  him  as  she 
drew  Miriam  toward  the  door. 

"Of  course  not,  we  shall  stay,"  said  Miriam,  freeing 
herself  from  the  girl. 

The  men  passed  in  unceremoniously  and  proceeded  to 
search  the  room — places  that  even  Miriam  had  for 
gotten  about;  they  overlooked  nothing,  but  silently, 


86  THE  RED  MOUSE 

quietly  in  their  business-like  way  turned  everything 
topsy-turvy,  replacing  things,  in  the  end,  as  they 
found  them.  Presently  they  turned  to  their  chief,  and 
said : — 

"It's  all  right,  Prosecutor." 

"Cover  the  rest  of  the  house,"  again  ordered  Murga- 
troyd. 

They  grinned  sheepishly. 

"That's  all  done,"  they  answered. 

"What?" 

McGrath  nodded. 

"Yes,  while  you  were  talking  in  here,"  he  said,  "we 
showed  our  shields  and  they  showed  us  through."  He 
drew  near  and  whispered :  "We  thought  it  best  to  take 
'em  by  surprise;  they  hadn't  no  time  to  fix  things, 
don't  you  see?" 

"Nothing  found?"  asked  Murgatroyd. 

Simultaneously  they  shook  their  heads,  and  an 
swered  : — 

"Nothing." 

Murgatroyd  waved  his  hand  and  commanded  them  to 
wait  for  him  at  the  door,  ending  with : — 

"I  won't  be  a  minute."  And  turning  to  Mrs.  Chal- 
loner,  he  said  a  trifle  apologetically:  "My  men  tell 
me  that  your  husband  is  not  in  the  house.  One  thing 
more,  however;  if  you  know  where  Mr.  Challoner 
is — 


THE  RED  MOUSE  87 

"She  doesn't !"  snapped  Shirley. 

"If  you  know  where  he  is,"  Murgatroyd  repeated, 
ignoring  the  interruption,  "if  you  have  any  means  of 
communicating  with  him 

"She  hasn't !"  once  more  interposed  the  girl  sharply. 

"I  want  you  to  use  your  influence  with  him  to  make 
him  come  back.  His  flight  amounts  to  a  moral  con 
fession  of  crime.  He  has  nothing  to  gain,  you  see," 
he  went  on  to  explain,  "by  staying  away.  He  is 
bound  to  be  caught ;  he  cannot  escape !" 

"I  want  him  to  come  back,"  stammered  Mrs.  Chal- 
loner.  "Yes,  yes,  he  must  come  back  and  face  this 
charge.  You — you  don't  think  him  guilty,  Mr.  Mur 
gatroyd?" 

Murgatroyd  walked  toward  the  door.  If  he  had 
spoken  his  mind  he  would  have  answered  in  the  affir 
mative  ;  but  instead,  he  compromised  with : — 

"I  don't  know ;"  and  abruptly  left  the  house. 


VI 

"BuuTES  every  one  of  them — and  Billy  Murgatroyd 
the  worst  of  all !"  The  exclamation  fell  from  Shirley 
Bloodgood's  lips. 

Miriam  Challoner  had  been  resting  her  head  for 
lornly  on  her  arms  as  she  sat  at  a  table,  but  on  hear 
ing  the  young  woman's  bitter  remark  she  raised  her 
head  and  smiled  a  wan  smile. 

"Mr.  Murgatroyd?"  The  tone  was  one  of  surprise. 
"Why,  I  thought  you  liked  him,  Shirley?" 

The  girl  hunched  her  shoulders  expressively. 

"You  have  things  badly  twisted,  Miriam — he  likes 
me."  And  suddenly  rising  to  her  feet,  she  clapped 
her  hands  impulsively.  "Oh,  Miriam,  I  almost  forgot 
— I've  good  news — good  news  for  you !"  Then  she 
ran  swiftly  toward  Mrs.  Challoner  and  swiftly  back 
again  to  the  window.  "No,  they're  out  of  sight — al 
most  .  .  .  ' 

"Good  news?  What  good  news?"  Miriam  asked  in 
credulously. 

Shirley  placed  a  hand  upon  her  lips. 

"Prosecutor  Murgatroyd,"  she  began,  "told  me  in 
confidence " 

"In  confidence!"  Miriam  repeated;  "then  you  had 
better  not " 


THE  RED  MOUSE  89 

Shirley  shook  her  head  belligerently. 

"Oh,  no !"  she  laughed.  "It's  all  right !  Billy  Mur- 
gatroyd  likes  to  tell  things  to  me.  He  told  me  once 
that  he  believed  that  to  be  one  of  the  controlling  mo 
tives  that  led  to  matrimony  .  .  .  That  a  man  should 
have  somebody  to  tell  things  to." 

Mrs.  Challoner's  curiosity  got  the  better  of  her. 

"And  he  told  you — "  she  inquired  eagerly. 

"He  told  me  the  facts — gave  away  his  evidence  to 
me."  Shirley  tossed  her  head. 

"But — "  again  protested  Miriam. 

Once  more  Shirley  silenced  her. 

"No — I  shall  tell  you — this  may  be  a  matter  of  life 
and  death ;  besides,  you  are  entitled  to  know  the  truth." 

"Yes,  yes,"  assented  Miriam,  "tell  me — I  must  know 
— but  first,  wait  a  moment."  She  pushed  a  button  and 
Stevens  entered. 

"Stevens,"  she  said  in  a  low,  strained  voice,  "don't  let 
any  one  in  the  house.  Do  you  understand?  I  simply 
cannot  stand  it — to  see  another  person." 

When  Stevens  had  left  the  room  the  girl  resumed : — 

"Murgatroyd  told  me,  Miriam,  the  greatest  cock- 
and-bull  story  you  ever  heard."  Miriam  looked  as  if 
her  brain  would  snap.  "It  seems  that  the  papers  have 
distorted,  exaggerated  everything.  The  fact  is,  Mir 
iam,  dear,  the  case  is  the  flimsiest  ..." 

Miriam  drew  a  deep  breath. 


90  THE  RED  MOUSE 

"How?    Explain  yourself!" 

Then  Shirley  went  on  to  tell  that  nobody  had  seen 
Hargraves  killed,  nobody  had  seen  the  shot  fired ;  that 
they  had  only  got  some  disreputable  gambler  or  other 
who  claimed  to  have  witnessed  a  quarrel  between  them. 

"And,  oh,  yes,"  she  added  a  moment  later,  "the  man 
that  killed  Hargraves  robbed  him  of  ten  thousand  dol 
lars — and  of  course  Lawrence  Challoner  wouldn't  rob 
a  man,  much  less  kill  one — so  don't  you  see,  there's 
nothing  in  the  story  at  all." 

"I  don't  know,"  answered  Miriam  slowly,  "whether 
he  would  or  not." 

"What !"  gasped  the  girl. 

"Don't  misunderstand  me,"  pleaded  the  woman. 
"There  are  two  Lawrence  Challoners — one  is  the  man 
I  love — that  loves  me ;  the  other  is  the  Lawrence  Chal 
loner  who — well — I  don't  care,"  she  added  fiercely,, 
"what  he's  done,  I  want  him  back."  She  sobbed  for 
an  instant.  "You  didn't  know,  Shirley,  that  we  had  a 
quarrel — I  treated  him  badly,  shamefully;  he  hasn't 
come  back  since." 

"You  quarrelled — you,  Miriam!"  The  girl  opened 
her  eyes  wide.  "What  about?" 

"Money,"  admitted  the  conscience-stricken  woman — 
"money.  He  wanted  me  to  give  him  some — a  per 
fectly  natural  request,  wasn't  it? — Men  have  got  to 
have  money,"  she  went  on,  repeating  his  words,  "and 


THE  RED  MOUSE  91 

I  wouldn't  give  him  any.  It  was  brutal  in  me — I  can 
never  forgive  myself !" 

A  look  of  astonishment  crossed  Shirley's  face. 

"You  wouldn't  give  him  any  money  ?  And  he  didn't 
have  any  when  he  went  away?" 

Miriam  wept.    After  a  moment  she  answered : — 

"No.  My  poor  Laurie — think  of  him  starving, 
freezing,  perhaps  dying !" 

Shirley  Bloodgood  drew  a  long  breath. 

"And  Colonel  Hargraves  was  robbed,"  she  mur 
mured  to  herself. 

"I  don't  think  you  understand,"  Miriam  went  on, 
breaking  in  upon  her  thoughts.  "Of  course  I  don't 
believe  that  Laurie  is  guilty  of  the  things  they  charge 
him  with ;  but  he  must  come  back  and  stand  trial  and 
be  acquitted — and  I  must  stand  by  his  side  through  it 
all."  She  broke  down  completely. 

"On  the  evidence  they  have,"  Shirley  returned,  try 
ing  to  comfort  her,  "they'll " 

"What's  that?"  inquired  Mrs.  Challoner,  starting  up 
nervously,  in  alarm.  "It's  that  horrible  bell  ringing 
again,"  she  went  on  breathlessly.  "Don't  you  hear 
voices  below  ?  Listen — I  thought  I  heard  .  .  .  ' 

Shirley  stole  to  the  door  and  listened.  Presently  she 
called  back: — 

"Don't  worry — whoever  it  is,  Stevens  is  sending  them 
away !" 


92  THE  RED  MOUSE 

"I  hope  so,"  sighed  Miriam,  "for  I  can't  see  any  one 
• — I  won't  see  any  one,  unless —  Oh,  Laurie,  Laurie," 
she  cried  out,  "why  don't  you  come  home !" 

Suddenly  Shirley  fell  back  from  the  door ;  it  was  be 
ing  stealthily  pushed  open. 

"Oh,"  she  gasped,  "it's  only  Stevens!  How  you 
frightened  me !" 

Stevens  stood  in  the  door  at  attention,  looking 
neither  to  the  right  nor  to  the  left,  but  straight  over 
the  heads  of  the  women.  He  drew  a  long  intake  of 
breath,  then  he  spoke  the  name : — 

"Mr.  Challoner." 

And  hardly  were  the  words  out  of  his  mouth  than  he 
was  thrust  aside,  and  there  stood  in  his  place  a  spare, 
gaunt,  tottering  figure — a  man  dishevelled,  soiled,  ex 
hausted — James  Lawrence  Challoner  had  come  home! 

At  the  sound  of  the  name  the  young  wife's  face 
turned  pale,  and  for  a  moment  words  failed  her.  Then 
all  of  a  sudden  she  sprang  to  her  feet  and  rushed  to 
him,  crying  in  an  ecstasy  of  joy : — 

"Laurie,  Laurie,  you've  come  home  to  me  at  last !" 
And  throwing  her  arms  around  his  neck,  she  kissed  him 
many  times,  laughing  hysterically  and  crying  the 
while:  "You've  come  back  to  me!"  And  once  more 
the  freshness  of  youth,  joy  and  hope  were  in  her 
voice. 

But  Challoner,  still  standing  just  within  the  entrance 


THE  RED  MOUSE  9S 

of  the  room,  did  not  heed  her ;  he  cast  her  off  with  a 
frantic  sweep  of  the  arm. 

"Keep  away — keep  away  from  me !"  he  cried.  "I'm 
tired,  dog-tired — I've  got  to  sleep,  sleep." 

Painful  as  was  the  scene,  Shirley  was  keenly  alive  to 
what  his  presence  there  might  mean. 

"Stevens,"  she  called,  pointing  to  a  window,  "pull 
that  curtain  down.  I  pulled  it  up  after  they  went ; 
pull  it  down." 

Challoner  now  turned  upon  her. 

"Leave  the  curtain  alone,  I  tell  you,"  he  said,  "I 
don't  care  if  it  is  up.  I  don't  care  about  you  either 
— nor  you,"  looking  at  his  wife.  "I  don't  know  you. 
I  must  have  sleep — sleep — sleep." 

Deep  down  in  her  soul  Shirley  knew  that  she  should 
not  hear  all  this,  and  she  would  have  fled  if  she  had 
not  promised  Miriam  not  to  leave  her.  Suddenly  she 
wheeled  upon  Stevens  as  if  she  and  not  Miriam  were 
the  mistress  of  the  house,  exclaiming  peremptorily : — 

"Stevens,  leave  the  room !" 

Stevens  obeyed  her  as  he  would  his  mistress,  and  left 
the  room  post  haste. 

Miriam  now  went  over  to  the  girl. 

"You're  not  going  to  leave  me !"  she  exclaimed, 
clinging  to  her.  "You  and  Laurie  are  the  only 
friends  I  have — you  must  stay  here  with  Laurie  and 
me." 


94  THE  RED  MOUSE 

Shirley  saw  the  agony  in  her  face  and  patted  her 
affectionately  as  she  promised: — 

"There,  there,  Miriam,  dear,  of  course  I  shall  stay." 
And  Miriam,  at  once  reassured,  darted  back  to  her  hus 
band,  and  cried: — 

"Laurie,  dear,"  kissing  him  and  pushing  the  hair 
back  from  his  forehead,  "so  tired — so  tired." 

But  Challoner,  a  wolf  now  and  not  a  man,  jerked 
away  from  her,  and  answered: — 

"I  came  home,  didn't  I?  Well,  then,  I  must  have 
sleep,  sleep,  I  tell  you,  sleep."  And  tottering  over  to 
a  dainty  silken  covered  sofa,  he  threw  himself  upon  it 
with  a  deep  sigh,  saying  as  though  to  himself:  "Sleep 
— I  must  have  sleep." 

Spellbound,  Miriam  watched  him  for  a  moment,  then 
following  him  to  the  sofa,  she  went  down  on  her  knees 
and  drew  him  to  her  in  a  close  embrace. 

"Everything's  all  right  now  that  you've  come  back," 
she  told  him  in  soothing  tones.  "And,  dear,  you'll  for 
give  me  for  quarrelling  with  you — I'm  so  sorry,  yes, 
I  am,  Laurie,"  kissing  him  on  the  lips,  the  face,  the 
forehead.  "Say  you'll  forgive  me,  Laurie,  dear?" 

His  answer  was  a  snore.  Challoner  lay  supinely 
where  he  had  thrown  himself,  sleeping  as  Joes  the 
beast  that  has  crept  back  to  his  lair  after  days  of 
hunting  by  the  man  pack. 

"Miriam,"  the  whispered  name  came  from  Shirley, 


THE  RED  MOUSE  95 

"you  and  I,  dear,  must  now  think  of  things.  We  must 
not  forget  that  Murgatroyd  and  his  men  have  only 
just  left.  We  must  not  let  him  lie  here;  it  was  lucky 
they  searched  the  house  when  they  did  .  .  .  ' 

Miriam  waved  the  other  back. 

"No,"  she  objected  strenuously,  "he  must  sleep;  we 
must  let  him  alone." 

"No,  no,  Miriam,"  persisted  Shirley,  putting  great 
emphasis  on  the  words,  "we  ought  to  tell  him  what 
kind  of  evidence  is  against  him.  He  ought  to 
know  that.  If  we  didn't  warn  him  in  time,  he'd 
never  forgive  us — he'd  never  forgive  you.  He's  a 
man  .  .  .  ' 

"Perhaps  you're  right,  Shirley — you  seem  to  be  al 
ways  right.  Yes,  I  suppose  he  ought  to  know." 
Gently  Miriam  shook  him,  rocked  him  to  and  fro  upon 
the  sofa,  as  some  fond  mother  might  wake  a  drowsy, 
growing  boy  on  a  lazy  summer  morn. 

"Lawrence,"  she  cried  softly  in  his  ear,  "wake  upi 
Wake  up,  dear,  wake  up !" 

For  an  instant  Challoner  stirred.  Presently  there 
came  in  guttural  tones : — 

"Yes,  yes,  that's  all  right  .  ..."  But  he  slept, 
and  kept  on  sleeping. 

"I  can  hardly  realise  that  Laurie  is  back,"  murmured 
Miriam,  happily.  Unconscious  of  the  other's  words, 
she  remained  kneeling  at  the  side  of  the  dainty  sofa 


96  THE  RED  MOUSE 

with  its  far  from  dainty  burden,  her  arm  still  about 
the  neck  of  the  man  who  slept  upon  it. 

"Yes,  yes,"  returned  the  girl,  "but  don't  you  think 
we  had  better  warn  him  ?  He  must  not  be  found " 

The  other  laughed  joyously,  trying  lovingly  to 
smooth  out  his  tangled  hair.  After  a  moment  she  an 
swered  absently: — 

"They'll  find  him  now,  I  suppose ;  but  I  don't  care — 
I've  got  him  back."  She  turned  and  kissed  him  once 
again.  "My  Laurie,"  she  murmured  in  his  ear.  Some 
how  she  thought  he  heard  and  was  glad  to  hear. 

The  girl  stooped  down  and  caught  her  by  the 
shoulder. 

"But,  Miriam,"  she  expostulated,  "we  must  take  no 
chances — we  ought  to  wake  him." 

Miriam  looked  up  at  the  girl  helplessly. 

"You  must  not  stop,  Miriam,"  insisted  Shirley,  "we 
must  wake  him " 

At  that  instant  as  they  stood  clustered  about  the 
sleeping  thing,  the  bell  once  more  broke  out  in  feeble 
clamour.  They  clung  to  each  other  in  abject 
fear. 

"The  bell!"  chorused  the  women,  and  stood  frozen, 
silent.  They  heard  Stevens  toiling  up  the  stairs; 
waited ;  watched  the  door ;  finally  they  saw  him  enter. 
Neither  of  the  women  spoke,  but  gazed  at  him  ques- 
tioningly. 


THE  RED  MOUSE  97 

Stevens  met  their  gaze  with  frightened  eyes.  At  last 
he  found  his  voice. 

"It's  the  prosecutor's  men  again,  Madam.  They've 
come  to " 

"Stevens,"  interrupted  Shirley,  "surely  you  didn't 
tell  them  that " 

"Not  one  word,  Miss  Bloodgood.  But  they  said  they 
saw  him " 

Shirley  groaned  and  pointed  to  the  sofa ;  Mrs.  Chal- 
loner  rose  to  her  feet  and  stood  before  it  as  if  to  hide 
the  man  upon  it. 

"You  left  them  outside,  Stevens?"  Miriam  was  calm 
and  apparently  in  full  control  of  herself  now. 

"One  of  them — the  other  forced  his  way  in  and  sent 
after  the  prosecutor." 

There  was  a  tap  at  the  door,  and  the  maid,  quivering 
with  fear,  excitement  and  indignation,  entered,  burst 
ing  forth  with: — 

"There's  a  man  coming  upstairs,  Madam — but 
I  stopped  him.  He  said  he'd  wait  out  there 
on  the  landing  to  see  you — said  he  knew  Mr.  Chal- 
loner  was  in  the  house  and  he  was  going  to  arrest 
him." 

Challoner  continued  to  sleep  noisily. 

"Oh,  dear,  there's  nothing  to  be  done,  I  suppose,  but 
to  let  the  man  in."  Mrs.  Challoner  was  speaking  to 
Shirley  now ;  and  then  without  waiting  for  a  reply  she 


98  THE  RED  MOUSE 

ordered  Foster  to  show  the  man  up,  adding :  "I  hope 
he'll  wait  until  Laurie  wakes." 

Instantly  Miriam  crossed  to  the  sofa  and  once  more 
rested  her  soft,  warm  face  on  his,  hoping  that  he  could 
feel  the  love  that  she  bore  for  him,  then  she  shook  him 
somewhat  roughly. 

"Laurie,  dear,  you  must  wake  up."  And  then  like  a 
flash  the  thought  of  resistance  crossed  her  mind.  She 
sprang  up  with  a  cry,  rushed  past  Shirley,  past  Ste 
vens,  reached  the  door,  closed  it,  fumbled  for  an  in 
stant,  and  finding  the  key  locked  it  tight. 

"No,  no,"  she  muttered,  "they  shan't  take  him — I 
won't  let  them — he  belongs  to  me !" 

In  a  frenzy  she  piled  up  the  light  chairs  and  tables, 
and  pushed  them  against  the  door  to  form  a  barri 
cade,  crying  the  while  to  Stevens:  "Help  me,  quick! 
We've  got  to  keep  them  out !  We  must  not  let  them 
in,  must  not  .  .  .  ' 

Shirley  went  over  to  her  and  caught  her  in  her  arms, 
whispering  while  she  affectionately  rested  her  head  on 
Miriam's  shoulder: — 

"Don't,  dear,  don't !  We  can't  help  it,  don't  you  see? 
There's  no  other  way  out  of  it  but  to  let  the  men  come  in." 

"Of  course  we  can't  help  it,"  after  a  moment  Mir 
iam  said  resignedly,  and  proceeded  to  pull  the  chairs 
and  tables  away  that  she  had  so  vigorously  piled  up. 
"Yes,  yes,  let  them  in,"  and  wearily  fell  into  a  chair. 


THE  RED  MOUSE  99 

Stevens  unlocked  the  door,  and  Mixley  entered  the 
room,  McGrath  following  soon  after. 

"There's  no  help  for  it,  ma'am,"  they  spoke  as  oneman. 

At  the  sight  of  them  Miriam  rushed  back  to  her  hus 
band  and  shook  him  slightly,  speaking  his  name  softly. 
Then  she  turned  plaintively  to  the  men: — 

"If  you  would  only  let  him  sleep — just  a  little  while 
longer,"  she  said  f alteringly. 

"You  must  leave  him  to  us,  ma'am,"  spoke  up  Mix- 
ley;  and  pointing  to  the  far  corner  of  the  room, 
added:  "Will  you  take  that  chair,  there,  please? 
Don't  be  afraid,  ladies,"  he  went  on,  glancing  at  Shir 
ley  ;  we  won't  hurt  the  gentleman,  see  if  we  do." 

And  suddenly ,  together,  the  men  bodily  lifted  Challoner 
from  the  sofa  and  as  suddenly  dropped  him  back  again. 

At  this  use  of  physical  force  Miriam  covered  her  face 
with  her  hands  and  cried: — 

"Don't  do  that — please  don't   ..." 

They  desisted,  but  for  quite  another  reason. 

"There's  a  hump  here  that  we'd  best  attend  to,"  said 
Mixley  to  the  other  detective,  meaningly,  running  his 
hand  over  the  outline  of  Challoner's  clothing.  "He 
may  not  be  so  sound  asleep  as  he  seems  to  be." 

At  this  juncture  Shirley  motioned  to  Stevens  to  leave 
the  room ;  the  next  instant  revealed  a  revolver  which 
they  took  from  Challoner's  hip-pocket. 

"Is  the  thing  loaded?"  queried  McGrath.     Together 


100  THE  RED  MOUSE 

they  examined  it;  then  simultaneously  they  glanced 
in  the  direction  of  the  women. 

"Ma'am — ladies,"  said  Mixley,  crossing  the  room, 
"we're  fair  people,  and  Prosecutor  Murgatroyd  is  fair. 
You  seen  us  take  this  here  firearm  from  Mr.  Chal- 
Joner  just  now,  didn't  you?" 

Miriam  and  Shirley  nodded  in  acknowledgment. 
Challoner  dropped  back  into  his  former  position  and 
continued  to  snore. 

Mixley  came  closer  to  them  and  requested  that  they 
take  a  good  look  at  it. 

"Don't  give  it  to  me,"  cried  Shirley,  eluding  the  out 
stretched  hand  and  its  contents. 

"Give  it  to  me,"  said  Miriam,  unhesitatingly. 

McGrath  crowded  up. 

"You  see  that  there's  five  chambers  loaded,  don't  you, 
Mrs.  Challoner?" 

JV|rs.  Challoner  turned  the  revolver  upside  down  and 
looked  at  it  helplessly. 

"Five  chambers  loaded?"  she  asked  innocently,  unsus 
pectingly. 

"Here,"  broke  in  Mixley,  "let  me  show  you."  And 
he  counted  slowly:  "One,  two,  three,  four,  five — all 
full,  see?" 

"Yes,  five  chambers,"  Mrs.  Challoner  agreed. 

There  was  a  pause  in  which  Mixley  looked  mean 
ingly  at  McGrath;  then  he  said: — 


THE  RED  MOUSE  101 

"And  one  chamber  empty?" 

"Oh,  yes,"  she  acknowledged  almost  eagerly,  as  he 
placed  his  finger  on  it,  "there's  surely  one  chamber 
empty — I  sec  it  now." 

McGrath  hesitated,  but  Mixley  went  on: — 

"Will  you  smell  it  please — just  the  end  of  it — the 
muzzle.  What  do  you  smell?" 

Mrs.  Challoner  smiled  faintly. 

"A  Fourth  of  July  smell,"  she  ventured;  "gunpow 
der,  of  course." 

"Burnt  powder,  exactly,  ma'am,"  they  said,  and 
smiled,  too.  But  McGrath  had  still  another  card  to 
play. 

"Look  at  this  here  figure  on  this  here  gun,  will  you, 
ma'am?  Here — there  it  is.  I  want  you  to  tell  me 
what  it  is." 

"What  is  it,  Shirley?"  asked  Miriam,  bringing  it 
closer  to  the  light. 

Shirley  shook  her  head. 

"I'd  rather  not." 

"Please,"  asked  Mrs.  Challoner. 

Shirley  peered  at  it.     Finally  she  declared: — 

"It's  '.38,'  "  touching  the  gun  lightly ;  "the  figures 
are  '.38.' " 

Mixley  fell  back  admiringly. 

"There  now— no  one  can  say  we  ain't  been  fair.  You 
:saw  us  take  it  from  him;  you  examined  it;  and  you 


102  THE  RED  MOUSE 

told  us  what  you  saw.  That's  fair.  You're  fair  and 
we're  fair — see?" 

"Yes.  But  what  of  it?"  asked  Shirley  and  Miriam  in 
one  breath. 

McGrath  opened  his  eyes  in  mock  wonder. 

"Why  bless  me,  didn't  you  know  ?  This  here  Colonel 
Hargraves  was  shot  by  a  bullet  that  came  out  of  a 
thirty-eight  calibre  revolver.  That's  all.  We  wanted 
to  be  fair." 

Shirley  rubbed  vigorously  the  hand  with  which  she 
had  touched  the  gun. 

"Fair!"  she  cried  bitterly.  "And  Mr.  Murgatroyd 
sanctions  such  methods — will  use  us  for  evidence — 
make  a  case  by  us  ?" 

But  even  then  Miriam  did  not  understand.  She  was 
watching  Mixley,  who  had  returned  to  Challoner; 
watching  Mixley  and  McGrath,  who  were  lifting  Chal 
loner  up  and  dropping  him — watching  them  draw  him 
up  to  a  standing  posture  and  then  throw  him  back 
again  on  the  sofa,  calling  the  while: — 

"Wake  up !    Wake  up !" 

"I've  got  to  sleep,"  was  all  they  could  get  out  of 
Challoner. 

At  last,  however,  a  lift  and  a  drop  a  trifle  more  vigor 
ous  than  the  preceding  ones  caused  Challoner  to  open 
his  eyes  and  look  about  him.  Then  he  closed  them 
again. 


THE  RED  MOUSE  103 

"Are  you  James  Lawrence  Challoner?"  asked  Mixley 
loudly,  peremptorily. 

"I  am,"  Challoner  answered ;  "now  leave  me  alone.'* 

And  now  again  the  bell ;  and  a  moment  later  Murga- 
troyd,  the  prosecutor,  stood  in  the  doorway. 
The  heat  of  much  haste  was  on  his  brow ;  he  looked 
neither  at  Mrs.  Challoner  nor  at  Shirley ;  it  was 
toward  Challoner  and  his  men  that  he  directed  his 
gaze. 

"Has  he  talked?"  Murgatroyd  asked,  standing  over 
Challoner. 

"No,"  answered  the  men,  "he  ain't  awake  yet." 

"Lift  him  to  his  feet,"  ordered  the  prosecutor. 

The  men  did  so. 

And  then  it  was  that  the  women  heard  him  say  in  a 
tone  that  cut  into  their  souls: — 

"Challoner,  wake  up!  This  is  Murgatroyd,  prose 
cutor  of  the  pleas."  It  was  a  summons;  Challoner 
obeyed  it.  He  opened  his  eyes,  closed  them,  yawned 
stupidly,  and  then,  awake,  stood  squarely  on  his  feet 
without  any  help. 

"Hello,  Murgatroyd !"  he  said. 

"Challoner,"  said  Murgatroyd  severely,  "remember 
that  I  am  not  here  as  your  friend— I  am  the  prose 
cutor,  do  you  hear?" 

"I  understand,"  said  Challoner. 

"Very  well  then,"  went  on  Murgatroyd,  "you  know1 


104*  THE  RED  MOUSE 

why  I  am  here.  You  are  charged — I  charge  you  now, 
Challoner,  with  the  murder  of  Colonel  Richard  Har- 
graves.  Do  you  understand  me?" 

"Perfectly,"  was  Challoner's  reply.  "You  want  to 
take  me  into  custody?  All  right — only  let  me  sleep 
when  I  get  there,  will  you  ?  I " 

"Wait  a  minute,  Challoner,"  persisted  Murgatroyd. 
"It's  my  duty  to  inform  you  that  anything  you  say 
will  be  used  against  you.  You  must  not  forget  that 
I  am  the  prosecutor." 

Miriam  came  forward  quickly. 

"Oh,  Laurie,  dear,  don't  say  anything,  just  yet,"  she 
cried  in  alarm. 

Shirley  seconded  her  warning,  saying  quickly : — 

"Don't  say  a  word  to  Mr.  Murgatroyd  until  you 
Have  seen  a  lawyer." 

Challoner,  still  sullen,  looked  over  his  shoulder  at  his 
wife. 

"Who's  saying  all  this  ?  Only  a  lot  of  women — what 
do  they  know?"  And  turning  back  to  Murgatroyd: 
"See  here,  Murgatroyd,  let's  get  this  straight,  shall 
we?"  And  he  looked  him  full  in  the  eye.  "You're 
the  prosecutor — and  anything  I  say  will  be  used 
against  me.  Is  that  right?  Well,  this  little  matter  is 
just  as  simple  as  A,  B,  C."  And  suddenly  drawing 
himself  up  to  his  full  height,  he  went  on  in  a  loud, 
clear  voice: — 


THE  RED  MOUSE  105 

"I  waited  for  Richard  Hargraves  with " 

"I  warned  you,"  cried  Murgatroyd,  stretching  forth 
a  hand. 

Challoner  scornfully  refused  to  listen. 

"...  and  when  I  found  him — "  he  glanced  about 
him  defiantly  and  gave  an  imitation  of  a  man  taking 
aim  and  shooting.  "There,  now,  you  know  the  facts." 

Murgatroyd  turned  to  his  two  men. 

"It's  a  case  of  wilful,  deliberate,  premeditated  mur 
der — murder  in  the  first  degree.  Take  him  away !" 

Shirley  was  on  her  feet  in  an  instant. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Challoner,"  she  cried,  springing  forward, 
"why  did  you  tell  him?" 

"Come  on !"  Challoner  called  out  gruffly  to  the  men. 
"Take  me  away !"  He  did  not  even  glance  at  his  wife, 
who  clung  to  the  girl,  and  sobbed  on  her  breast. 

The  prosecutor  nodded  to  his  subordinates,  and  im 
mediately  they  seized  Challoner  by  the  arm  and 
started  toward  the  door. 

"No,  no,"  cried  Miriam,  tearing  herself  from  Shir 
ley's  hold,  "don't  take  him  away !"  And  again  and 
again  with  all  the  force  left  in  her :  "No !  No !  No ! — • 
Oh,  Laurie ! " 

The  doors  closed  behind  the  men.  Then  Miriam 
sank  down  upon  the  soiled  sofa  where  he  had  lain,  and 
sobbed  as  though  her  heart  would  break. 


VII 

ON  the  morning  after  Challoner's  arrest  the  prosecu 
tor  of  the  pleas  was  sitting  at  his  desk  in  his  private 
office  in  the  court-house  when  Mixley  and  McGrath  en 
tered. 

"You've  done  as  I  instructed?  You've  got  Challoner 
outside?"  the  prosecutor  asked. 

The  men  replied  in  the  affirmative. 

"Bring  him  in,"  commanded  Murgatroyd. 

In  a  few  minutes  they  returned  with  the  prisoner. 
Challoner  looked  better  than  he  had  the  night  before. 
In  a  thoroughly  impersonal  way,  curtly  but  not  un 
pleasantly,  Murgatroyd  addressed  him. 

"Good-morning!   How  do  you  feel?" 

The  prisoner,  still  half  man,  growled : — 

"Better.  I  got  some  sleep,  but  I'm  still  tired  as 
thunder." 

"I  sent  for  you  this  morning,"  went  on  the  prose 
cutor,  "because  of  what  you  said  last  night.  I  am 
not  sure  that  you  meant  all  you  said — indeed  whether 
you  remember  it?" 

This  interrogation  evidently  struck  Challoner  as 
amusingly  superfluous,  for  he  laughed  aloud ;  but  the 
laughter  had  a  note  of  aching  bravado. 

"Of  course,  I  remember  it,"  he  said  presently,  and 


THE  RED  MOUSE  107 

pointing  with  a  steady  forefinger  to  a  weapon  on 
the  prosecutor's  desk,  "I  shot  him  with  that  gun 
there." 

Murgatroyd  could  not  restrain  a  movement  of  sur 
prise  at  Challoner's  Sang  Froid;  neither  could  those 
trained  witnesses,  Mixley  and  McGrath,  leaning  well 
forward  lest  they  should  miss  a  word. 

"Most  decidedly,  then,"  continued  the  prosecutor, 
"you  do  not  recall  that  I  told  you  that  anything  you 
might  say  would " 

"I  heard  all  you  said,"  the  prisoner  broke  in,  shrug 
ging  his  shoulders,  "but  what's  the  use — it  had  to 
come — I  knew  it.  I  was  getting  tired  of  hiding  in 
out-of-the-way  places,  and  never  having  a  wink  of 
sleep.  Besides,  I  knew  that  Pemmican — Cradle- 
baugh's  man — saw  the  whole  affair.  There  was  no 
sense  in  trying  to  escape." 

Murgatroyd's  face  adequately  expressed  his  ap 
proval  of  the  prisoner's  point  of  view.  His  voice, 
however,  was  distinctly  non-committal  in  tone  when  he 
observed  easily: — 

"Pemmican  saw  it  all,"  then?" 

"Certainly  he  did,"  Challoner  volunteered. 

There  was  a  short  pause,  in  which  the  prosecutor 
turned  over  some  papers  lying  on  his  desk;  when  he 
spoke  again  he  did  so  without  looking  up  from  the 
documents  he  was  scanning. 


108  THE  RED  MOUSE 

"I  haven't  examined  Pemmican — my  men  have, 
though,"  he  said.  "I've  got  him  under  lock  and  key ; 
he's  in  the  house  of  detention ;  and  he'll  have  to  stay 
there  until " 

Challoner  moistened  his  lips. 

"Until  my  trial,  I  suppose,"  he  interposed.  "Poor 
devil !  That's  hard  lines !" 

The  prosecutor  ignored  the  comment,  but  he  re 
minded  the  prisoner  again  that  he  must  be  careful  not 
to  say  anything  that  could  be  used  against  him,  con 
cluding  with: — 

"You  came  here  from  the  jail  quite  willingly  this 
morning?" 

"Don't  you  think  we  can  cut  all  that  sort  of  thing 
out,  Mr.  Prosecutor?"  a  little  scornfully. 

Before  answering,  Murgatroyd  shot  a  glance  at  his 
men  as  if  to  sharpen  their  attention. 

"Very  well,  then,"  he  said  finally,  "if  you're  quite 
willing  I  should  like  to  know  the  exact  details.  As  I 
understand  it,  both  Hargraves  and  you  were  fatally 
infatuated  with  an  actress  at  the  Frivolity — quar 
relled  over  her — is  that  right?" 

Challoner  reddened.  For  an  instant  a  wild  look  came 
into  his  eyes. 

"Surely  there  is  no  necessity  of  bringing  any  other 
names  into  this,"  he  answered  hotly ;  and  then  little  by 
little  calming  down  he  recounted  graphically  all  the 


THE  RED  MOUSE  109 

Incidents  leading  to  and  of  that  memorable  night,  say 
ing  in  conclusion: — 

"...  And  then  Room  A  at  Cradlebaugh's 
and " 

A  most  unusual  performance  on  the  part  of  the 
prosecutor  cut  him  short.  All  the  time  Challoner  had 
been  laying  bare  the  facts  as  he  remembered  them, 
Murgatroyd  had  been  toying  silently  with  a  pigskin 
wallet  on  which  appeared  in  gold  the  initials :  "R.  H." ;. 
and  just  when  his  prisoner  was  on  the  point  of  ending 
his  story,  he  tossed  it  over  to  him. 

Challoner  caught  it  "on  the  fly." 

"Do  you  recognise  that?"  Murgatroyd  demanded. 
The  prosecutor  desired,  if  possible,  to  add  robbery  to 
the  motive  in  the  case. 

Challoner  never  winked  an  eyelash. 

"Know  it?  he  replied  glibly,  "I  should  think  I  did! 
It  was  Hargraves's.  When  I  saw  it  last  there  was  ten 
thousand  dollars  in  it."  And  turning  it  almost  inside 
out,  he  asked  in  an  offhand  manner: — 

"Where's  the  money  gone?" 

Murgatroyd's  eyes  searched  the  face  of  the  man  be 
fore  him  as  if  he  would  read  his  very  soul. 

"You  took  it,"  he  asserted  coldly. 

Challoner  passed  his  hand  across  his  face,  striving  to 
clear  away  his  muddled  recollections. 

"I  took  it?     Decidedly  not!"  he  exclaimed  indig- 


110  THE  RED  MOUSE 

nantly.  But  the  man's  dipsomaniacal  doubts  and 
fears  tinged  the  tone  of  his  voice  and  lessened  the  im- 
pressiveness  of  his  denial,  though  he  added:  "Why, 
your  witness,  Pemmican,  can  tell  you  that — he  saw 
the  whole  thing." 

Mixley  and  McGrath  had  something  to  say  now.  In 
chorus  they  wanted  particularly  to  know  whether 
Challoner  was  positive  that  Pemmican  saw  "the  whole 
thing."  This  joint  interrogation  seemed  to  have  an 
irritating  effect  on  the  prisoner;  and  when  Murga- 
troyd  silenced  them  by  inquiring  of  Challoner  whether 
it  was  not  a  fact  that  he  had  tried  to  borrow  money 
all  over  town,  the  "Yes"  he  elicited  was  muttered  an 
grily. 

"But  I  didn't  touch  that,"  Challoner  resumed,  the 
beads  of  perspiration  standing  out  on  his  brow.  "In 
any  event,  it  is  not  one  of  the  main  facts  in  my  mem 
ory.  If  I  did  take  the  money,  what  in  the  world  have 
I  done  with  it — tell  me  that?  But  look  here,  Murga- 
troyd,  let's  get  down  to  business  and  have  this  over 
with.  I'm  tired  of  the  whole  affair.  I  told  you  that 
I  waited  for  Hargraves  for  two  nights.  We  had  a 
game  in  Room  A — there  was  a  compact — Hargraves 
won  out !  Hang  him,  he  always  won  out !  We  had  a 
row  then  and  there  ...  I  pulled  that  gun  and  fired 
at  him  point  blank!" 

"And  then?" 


THE  RED  MOUSE  111 

"I  killed  him ;  and  I  would  do  it  over  again,  I  assure 
you.  I  don't  remember  any  more — but  Pemmican 
was  there — you've  got  his  story — he  knows  all  about 
it." 

"His  story,"  observed  Murgatroyd,  laying  a  fore 
finger  on  the  edge  of  the  desk,"  amounts  to  just  what 
you  said  last  night — that  drunk  and  sober,  you 
watched  your  chance,  and  when  you  got  it,  you  made 
good — or  bad,  whichever  way  you  please." 

"You've  got  it,"  returned  Challoner,  "now  take  me 
back." 

There  was  a  loud  rap  on  the  door.  Mixley  answered 
It,  and  left  the  room,  holding  a  conversation  in  some 
what  strenuous  tones  on  the  other  side.  He  returned 
in  an  instant. 

"It's  Counsellor  Thome,"  he  announced  to  the  prose 
cutor.  "He  wants  to  see  you." 

Murgatroyd  shook  his  head  impatiently.  He  and 
Thorne  did  not  pull  well  together. 

"Tell  him  to  wait,"  he  said  brusquely. 

"He  won't  wait,"  persisted  Mixley.  "He  in 
sists  ..." 

"You  tell  him  that  he's  got  to  wait,"  returned  Mur 
gatroyd. 

But  Thorne  did  not  wait.  No  sooner  had  Mixley  left 
the  room  than  Thorne  entered  and  strode  up  to  the 
prosecutor's  desk.  Mixley  followed  him. 


112  THE  RED  MOUSE 

Resting  one  hand  on  the  table  Thorne  waved  the 
other  toward  Challoner. 

"Murgatroyd,"  he  cried  fiercely,  with  an  injured 
air,  "what's  this?  You  call  yourself  a  reputable  mem 
ber  of  the  bar ;  you  call  yourself  a  reform  prosecutor 
of  the  pleas ;  this  is  a  most  unfair  advantage." 

Murgatroyd  sighed  wearily. 

"What  now,  Thorne,  what  now?" 

"Most  unfair,"  repeated  the  other  counsellor-at-law. 
"You've  got  my  client  here — my  client!" 

Murgatroyd  looked  at  Mixley  and  then  at  McGrath. 

"Your  client !    Where  is  your  client?" 

"There  he  is,"  pointing,  "James  Lawrence  Chal 
loner!" 

Murgatroyd  rose  and  said  suavely : — 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  Thorne.  Are  you  retained? 
I  didn't  know.  Challoner  said  nothing  of  it.  Why 
didn't  you  tell  me,  Mr.  Challoner?" 

"I  didn't  know  it,"  Challoner  told  him  shortly.  "But 
it's  all  right — I  supppose  Mrs.  Challoner  retained 
him." 

"Yes,  she  did,"  Thorne  informed  him. 

"Well,  I'm  sorry,  Thorne,"  said  Murgatroyd.  "If  I 
had  known  you  were  in  the  case " 

"Sorry!"  echoed  Thorne.  "This  is  outrageous!  I 
went  up  to  the  jail  this  morning  and  my  client  was  not 
there."  He  waved  his  arm  as  if  addressing  a  jury. 


THE  RED  MOUSE 

"And  when  they  told  me  that  you — you  had  the  ef 
frontery  to  have  him  brought  down  here — for  the 
third  degree —  This  is  a  matter  for  the  Morning 
Mail." 

Murgatroyd  lolled  back  in  his  chair  and  lit  a  fresh 
cigar.  Presently  he  said: — 

"Thome,  my  duty  is  to  the  people  as  well  as  to  your 
client;  so  far  I've  done  my  duty  to  both.  Go  to  the 
Morning  Mail  if  you  want  to." 

"And  leave  my  client  here  alone !"  said  Thorne,  dog 
gedly.  He  shook  his  head  to  let  Challoner  see  what 
a  determined  man  he  was. 

Murgatroyd  leaned  back  over  his  desk  and  for  a 
moment  busied  himself  with  his  papers.  Then  he  an 
nounced  : — • 

"Mr.  Thorne,  your  client  is  going  back  to  jail  at 
once ;"  and  added  j  okingly :  "If  you  wish  to  ride  with 
him  in  the  van,  you  may  do  so."  And  with  that  he 
ordered  Challoner  taken  away. 

Before  going,  Challoner  stretched  out  his  hand  and 
said  half  genially : — 

"I've  no  fault  to  find  with  you,  Mr.  Prosecutor ;  it 
had  to  come  to  this." 

"But  I  won't  forget  this — not  for  a  moment,  Prose 
cutor  Murgatroyd,"  said  Thorne  grandiloquently,  as 
he  stalked  out  of  the  door,  followed  by  the  prisoner 
and  his  guards. 


THE  RED  MOUSE 

After  the  men  had  left  Murgatroyd  paced  the  floor 
for  a  while  in  deep  meditation.  Something  in  the 
prisoner's  attitude  had  moved  him,  puzzled  him. 
"There's  a  discrepancy  somewhere,"  he  told  himself; 
"and  yet  where  the  deuce  is  it? — Challoner  killed  this 
man  as  sure  as  fate.  The  motive,  the  opportunity, 
were  there  .  .  .  And  then  there's  his  confession 
.  .  .  But — "  He  pushed  a  button;  and  when 
McGrath  answered  the  call  he  was  ordered  to  have 
Pemmican  sent  down  from  the  house  of  detention,  his 
order  ending  with:  "I  wish  to  see  him  at  once." 

"Yes,  sir."  The  officer  then  placed  a  card  upon  the 
prosecutor's  desk  and  added:  "That's  a  party  who 
wants  to  see  you,  sir." 

Murgatroyd  picked  up  the  card  negligently  and 
glanced  at  it  out  of  the  corner  of  his  eye.  Instantly 
a  dull  flush  mounted  to  his  face,  and  rising  to  his  feet, 
he  said: — 

"Tell  the  lady  to  come  in,  please." 


VIII 

THERE  was  a  flush  on  the  face  of  Shirley  Bloodgood 
as  she  entered  the  prosecutor's  office,  which  was  fully 
as  deep  as  that  on  the  face  of  the  man  eagerly 
awaiting  her.  Jauntily  she  held  out  a  gloved  hand 
and  said  with  a  breeziness  that  was  perhaps  a  trifle 
forced : — 

"You  must  excuse  me,  Mr.  Prosecutor;  I'm  quite 
alone — "  and  she  drew  attention  to  her  unconventional 
act  by  placing  her  finger  on  her  lips,  which  were 
pursed  into  a  big  O —  "I  have  no  chaperone." 

"Won't  I  answer?"  suggested  the  prosecutor  lightly, 
as  he  took  her  hand ;  and  placing  a  chair  close  to  his 
desk,  "Sit  here,  please." 

"The  fact  that  I'm  alone,"  went  on  Shirley,  taking 
the  seat  indicated,  but  moving  it  a  little  farther  away 
from  him,  "should  prove  conclusively  that  I'm  not 
afraid  to  beard  the  lion  in  his  den." 

"Did  it  require  so  very — much  courage?"  he  asked 
with  mock  seriousness. 

Shirley  made  a  little  moue. 

"After  last  night,  seems  to  me  you're  a  bear." 

Murgatroyd  seated  himself ;  it  was  thoroughly  char 
acteristic  that  he  should  waste  little  time  on  a  pre 
liminary  skirmish  with  any  one. 


116  THE  RED  MOUSE 

"Then  it  is  about  this  Challoner  affair  that  you  have 
come  to  see  me?"  he  asked  tactlessly.  "I  warn  you, 
Shirley— don't !  Hands  off! " 

At  once  Shirley  assumed  an  aggressive,  business-like 
attitude ;  close  to  his  desk  she  drew  her  chair,  and  then 
leaning  on  both  elbows  looked  Murgatroyd  squarely 
in  the  face  and  said  with  great  earnestness : — 

"Billy  Murgatroyd,  you've  got  to  help  these  people 
out!" 

Murgatroyd  flushed  and  answered  with  a  smile : — 

"If  such  a  thing  were  possible,  Shirley,  you're  the 
one  person  to  make  me  do  it." 

His  compliment  found  her  unresponsive ;  she  was  too 
preoccupied  with  her  own  thoughts. 

"You  must  do  it,"  she  persisted,  and  looked  at  him 
appealingly.  "Of  course  the  man  could  not  have  been 
himself." 

"Probably  not,"  he  said  coldly.  "But  of  one  thing 
you  may  be  sure,  Challoner  had  a  purpose  in  all  this." 

Shirley  frowned;  the  man  changed  the  tone  of  his 
voice  with  a  versatility  that  she  declared  to  herself 
was  little  short  of  scandalous ;  he  went  on : — 

"That  purpose  was  to  kill  Hargraves.  Last  night 
you  heard  his  confession  to  that  effect;  this  morning 
he  substantiated  it  in  detail." 

Shirley  wrapped  one  hand  over  the  other  and  sat 
looking  at  Murgatroyd  with  white  drawn  face. 


THE  RED  MOUSE  HT 

"I  suppose  you  realise  that  this  thing  is  going  to  kill 
Miriam  Challoner?" 

The  man  shook  his  head  vigorously. 

"Bosh !  If  grief  could  kill  the  woman,  living  with 
Challoner  would  have  accomplished  that  long  ago." 

"How  unfeeling!  How  like  a  man!  You  under 
stand  women  so  well !"  she  declared,  looking  up  at  him 
with  a  mocking  smile;  and  then  went  on  to  plead: 
"You  must  do  something — you  must  get  him  free! 
Surely  it  remains  for  his  friend  to  do  this  much  for 
him!  You  will — won't  you?"  There  was  a  suspicion 
of  moisture  in  the  girl's  eyes. 

Shaking  his  head,  Murgatroyd  rose  and  began 
to  pace  the  floor,  not  because  he  wanted  to  think, 
but  merely  to  give  the  girl  time  to  regain  her 
composure.  At  last  he  stopped  directly  in  front  of 
her. 

"Shirley" — it  was  surprising  how  gentle  his  voice 
could  be  at  times — "I  want  you  to  realise  the  circum 
stances  of  this  case,  which  you  seem  to  have  forgotten. 
In  the  presence  of  several  people,  including  yourself, 
this  man  has  deliberately  confessed  to  a  premeditated 
murder ;  a  man  in  my  custody  is  a  witness  to  the  facts ; 
at  least  five  men  know  of  the  motive — his  quarrel  with 
Colonel  Hargraves.  No,"  he  concluded  severely,  "if 
Challoner  were  my  brother  or  my  father,  more  than 
that,  if  you  were  in  Challoner's  place  to-day,  I  should 


118  THE  RED  MOUSE 

have  to  try  you — convict  you.  There  would  be  no 
escape." 

"But  the  condition  that  made  him  do  this  thing  was 
abnormal,"  she  persisted;  "bad  companions  and  bad 
habits  had  warped  his  mind." 

"Like  other  men  of  his  kind,"  returned  Murgatroyd, 
"Challoner's  decent  at  times — conducts  himself  like  a 
man;  but  generally  speaking,  he's  irretrievably 
bad." 

"But  can't  you  delay  the  trial — get  him  off  in  some 
way — some  time?  There  are  ways — the  thing  is  done 
every  day,  and  you  know  it." 

Murgatroyd  smiled  grimly. 

"My  dear  girl,  if  I  would  do  this  thing,  I  couldn't. 
I  shall  go  a  step  farther.  If  I  could  do  it,  I  wouldn't. 
I  couldn't  look  you  in  the  face,  guilty  as  I  should  be 
of  gross  malfeasance  in  my  office."  He  waved  his 
hand  in  finality.  "Not  another  word  on  the  subject, 
please." 

"You're  immovable !  You're  cruel !"  she  cried,  rising 
to  her  feet.  "I  ought  not  to  have  come !  However,  I 
have  done  what  I  could  for  a  friend,"  she  flung  back 
at  him,  looking  him  straight  in  the  eye,  and  started 
toward  the  door. 

Murgatroyd  blocked  her  way. 

"No,"  he  said  good-humouredly,  not  the  least  dis 
concerted  by  her  parting  shot,  "it's  my  turn  now. 


THE  RED  MOUSE  119 

You  have  attempted  to  corrupt  me,  swerve  me  from 
my  duty  and " 

"And  wasted  your  time,  I  suppose,  as  you  were  good 
enough  to  remind  me  on  a  previous  occasion,"  she  re 
turned,  looking  up  saucily  at  him  under  her  lashes. 

Murgatroyd  was  quick  to  detect  her  change  of  mood 
and  took  his  courage  in  both  hands,  saying : — 

"Won't  you  for  the  moment  forget  the  Challoners, 
Shirley?  Be  kind — you  give  me  little  opportunity 
to  see  you  alone  these  days.  Think  only  of  yourself 
and  me " 

"If  you're  going  to  make  love  to  me  in  that  awfully 
serious  way  of  yours  or,  for  that  matter,  in  any  other 
way,  I'll  go." 

"Aren't  you  going  to  marry  me,  Shirley?"  he  de 
manded  with  characteristic  directness. 

"Same  old  story,"  laughed  the  girl. 

"Yes,  this  is  the  sixth  time  now  that  I've  asked  you. 
Again,  will  you  marry  me?" 

"Don't  be  silly !  This  is  hardly  the  place,  Billy  ..." 

"I  quite  agree  with  you.  But  one  has  to  make  the 
most  of  opportunity.  As  I  said  before,  the  occasions 
are  all  too  rare  when  I  find  myself  alone  with  you. 
And  unless  you  want  me  to  keep  asking  you,  speak  the 
word  now,  Shirley — make  me  happy.  You  may  as 
well  say  it  first  as  last,  for  I'm  determined  to  win  you 
— I'm  going  to  have  you !"  he  wound  up  energetically. 


120  THE  RED  MOUSE 

"Sure  of  that,  Billy?"  she  asked  coquettishly. 

"Positive."  And  there  was  a  world  of  determination 
in  the  way  he  said  it. 

"Then  why  bother  about  my  consent?"  A  flicker  of 
a  smile  hovered  around  her  lips. 

"Why  do  you  persist  in  refusing  me?" 

Shirley  flushed.  She  seemed  amused  and  serious,  in 
turn.  Finally  she  looked  up  at  him  quizzically  for  a 
moment,  then  asked: — 

"Do  you  really  want  to  know?" 

He  did  not  answer  the  question,  but  ventured : — 

"Is  it  because  of  Thorne?  Is  he  my  successful 
rival?" 

Shirley  looked  perturbed.  She  was  struggling  for 
expression. 

"No,  it's  not  because  of  Thorne.  I  wish  it  were 
.  .  .  '  And  after  a  moment:  "Do  you  still  want 
to  know?" 

"Yes.  I've  got  to  know,  Shirley."  And  he  waited 
for  her  words  as  though  his  life  hinged  upon  them. 

"Will  you  be  very  quiet  and  stay  right  where  you 
are  if  I  tell  you?" 

"I  promise,"  raising  his  right  hand  half  playfully. 

"Well,  then,  it's  because — I  love  you,"  she  said 
easily. 

Murgatroyd  sprang  toward  her,  the  colour  rising 
in  his  face,  fire  flashing  from  his  eye. 


THE  RED  MOUSE 

"Shirley!" 

The  girl  quickly  waved  him  back. 

"It's  because  I  love  you  or  believe  that  I  do  that  I 
shall  never  marry  you.  I  mean  it,"  she  hastened  to 
add,  for  the  faintest  shade  of  doubt  had  appeared  on 
his  face. 

"But  why?"  he  faltered,  turning  his  eyes  inquisi 
tively  on  her.  • 

Shirley  sighed  unconsciously. 

"It  is  time  that  I  made  myself  plain,  understood  to 
you.  Not  because  you're  entitled  to  an  explanation, 
but  because,  well,  because  I  like  you  just  a  bit " 

Again  Murgatroyd  took  a  step  forward;  but  with 
laughter  still  lingering  in  her  eyes,  the  girl  made  a 
pretty  little  movement  of  her  wrist  and  motioned 
toward  his  chair.  Instantly  he  stopped,  catching  his 
breath  in  sheer  admiration  of  her  beauty.  He  was 
dimly  conscious  of  putting  his  hands  behind  his  back ; 
it  seemed  the  only  means  of  preventing  them  from 
touching  her.  But  now  as  he  gazed  upon  her,  he  saw 
that  there  was  something  behind  those  laughing  eyes. 
A  serious  look  was  on  her  face.  She  seemed  suddenly 
to  have  changed.  The  thousand  and  one  little  man 
nerisms  that  were  so  large  a  part  of  the  girl's  attrac 
tiveness  were  all  there,  but  the  voice  was  no  longer 
the  mirthful  voice  of  the  Shirley  that  he  knew  and 
loved.  She  spoke  as  though  in  a  trance : — 


128  THE  RED  MOUSE 

"Can  you  understand  me  when  I  say  that  I  have  got 
to  have  something  more  than  love?  I  am  too  practical, 
Billy,  to  fool  myself — <-or  you !  Perhaps  I'm  cursed 
with  the  instincts  of  my  kind — of  the  American  girl. 
Oh,  let  me  tell  you  how  it  is !"  she  exclaimed  impul 
sively.  "All  my  life  I've  been  surrounded  by  men  who 
were  failures.  My  grandfather  was  a  failure ;  my  fa 
ther  was  a  failure;  and  my  brothers  are  failures. 
They  have  tainted  my  happiness — don't  misunder 
stand  me — I  love  them,  but  I  can't  look  up  to  them." 

Murgatroyd  nodded  appreciatively.  He  believed 
that  he  should  feel  the  same  way  about  these  men. 

"But — you  don't  want  money?"  he  protested. 
"You're  too  much  the  right  sort  of  an  American  girl 
for  that." 

"No,  not  exactly  money ;  but  the  man  who  appeals  to 
me  is  one  who  can  surmount  all  obstacles,"  she  answered 
with  grave  tenderness ;  "who  has  success  running  in 
his  veins."  Not  a  shade  of  her  former  gravity  now 
showed  on  the  speaker's  face ;  it  lighted  as  if  a  flame 
of  enthusiasm  had  escaped  from  the  temple  of  her 
soul.  She  paused  for  a  moment  and  lifted  her  head, 
and  in  the  transporting  gaze  that  seemed  to  pass  be 
yond  him  and  was  lost  into  space,  for  the  first  time  the 
man  read  and  understood  the  girl's  nature. 

"Have  you  ever  lain  awake  at  night,  Billy,  ever 
curled  up  on  a  window-seat  in  the  daytime  and 


THE  RED  MOUSE 

planned  your  future?"  She  did  not  wait  for  an  an 
swer,  but  kept  on:  "I  have;  and  in  these  dreams  of 
mine  I  would  always  take  my  place  by  the  side  of  my 
great  knight  errant,  helping  him  to  become  greater 
— the  damsel  riding  on  the  pillion  of  my  lord's  war- 
horse  as  he  goes  to  war.  At  times  he  has  been  a  diplo 
matist,  a  jurist,  a  law-maker;  and  I  have  always  lent 
him  strength.  When  I  marry,  Billy,  my  husband's 
work  will  be  my  work ;  his  struggles,  my  struggles ; 
but  the  man  must  have  greatness  running  through  his 
veins." 

Murgatroyd  smiled  sheepishly.  He  had  his  full  pro 
portion  of  conceit,  and  he  did  not  quite  relish  this. 

"Then  I  haven't  figured  often  in  the  limelight  of 
your  dreams?" 

"If  only  you  had,  Billy,  but  you  haven't,  much  as 
I  have  tried  my  best  to  fit  my  knight's  armour  on  you 
and  place  you  on  his  war-horse.  Now  can't  you  see 
what  it  would  mean  if  we  tried  the  experiment  of  mar 
riage  ?  Marriage  would  not  make  me  happy ;  it  would 
be  misery " 

"Misery?"  he  snatched  the  word  from  her  lips. 

"Yes,  misery  for  you,"  she  finished.  "Can  the  girl 
who  must  have  money  make  a  poor  man  happy,  much 
as  she  may  love  him  ?  Can  the  butterfly  make  a  book 
worm  happy,  much  as  she  may  love  him?  A  woman 
with  social  ambitions  loves  a  man  with  none;  can  she 


124.  THE  RED  MOUSE 

make  him  happy  ?  No !  And  while  I  am  none  of  these, 
yet,  somehow,  I've  got  to  fulfil  my  destiny;  and  I'm 
not  going  to  chafe,  anger  and  everlastingly  offend  the 
man  who  doesn't  belong — doesn't  fit  in  with  my  ideas !" 

"But  I  do  fit  in,  as  you  phrase  it,"  Murgatroyd 
maintained.  "Haven't  I  ambition?  And  am  I  not  a 
fighter? — You'd  think  so  if  you  knew  the  devil  of  a 
fight  I  am  having  right  now  with  my  own  organ 
isation — with  Cradlebaugh's ;  and  I'm  going  to 
win!" 

Shirley  smiled  faintly  at  his  almost  boyish  earnest 
ness,  but  she  shook  her  head. 

"You  are  too  much  of  a  reformer,  too  much  of  a 
crank — no,  I'm  sorry  to  tell  you  so,  but  in  my  inmost 
soul  I  believe  you  will  fail.  You're  built  that  way! 
I  don't  know  why,  but  men  of  influence  have  weighed 
you  in  the  balance  and  found  you  wanting.  William 
Murgatroyd,  politically  you're  dead — that's  what 
they  tell  me.  There's  no  future  for  you;  you  have 
ruthlessly  antagonised  every  valuable  interest  need 
lessly.  That's  not  success !" 

Murgatroyd's  face  paled;  his  hand  trembled  as  he 
raised  it  in  protest. 

"But  the  people — the  people  believe  in  me?" 

Shirley  smiled  again  in  spite  of  herself. 

"You  haven't  an  ounce  of  diplomacy  in  your  whole 
body!" 


THE  RED  MOUSE  125 

"Not  if  you  call  obeying  orders  from  Peter  Brod- 
erick,  diplomacy." 

Still  the  girl  was  merciless. 

"You  hit  from  the  shoulder  wildly;  it  lands  on  and 
hurts  your  opponent,  but  it  kills  you.  You're  only 
honest,  Billy,  nothing  else." 

Murgatroyd  swung  about  nervously  and  glanced 
out  of  the  window  as  he  cried : — 

"Only  honest !  Doesn't  that  count  with  you — doesn't 
it  signify?" 

"It's  easy  enough  to  be  honest,  but  it  is  great  to 
make  your  honesty  save  and  not  destroy  you.  To  get 
these  men  behind  you  instead  of  opposed  to  you;  to 
make  your  organisation  do  what  you  want  it  to  do ; 
to  rise  upon  its  shoulders  because  you  make  it  lift  you 
up—  Ah!  .  .  .  " 

"But,  Shirley,"  interposed  Murgatroyd,  "can't  you 
see  that  the  man  who  stands  up  for  a  principle  cannot 
fail?" 

"What  have  you  done  so  far?"  she  kept  on  per 
sistently.  "You're  prosecutor  of  the  pleas,  your  first, 
last  and  only  office.  Am  I  right?" 

"I'm  afraid  you  are,"  he  answered  dully.  "In  a  way 
what  you  say  is  the  truth.  Politically  I  shall  die — " 
Murgatroyd  shuddered  as  he  spoke — "unless  I 
can  force  this  issue  to  a  finish  while  my  office 
lasts." 


126  THE  RED  MOUSE 

"And  then?"  Her  manner  in  putting  the  question 
nettled  him. 

"Well,  then  I  suppose  I  shall  live  and  die  poor.  But 
at  least  I  shall  die  honest,"  he  added. 

Shirley  shifted  her  mode  of  attack. 

"Look  at  Mr.  Thome !" 

"Ah,  it  is  Thorne,  then." 

"A  while  ago  I  told  you  it  was  not  Mr.  Thorne." 

O  J 

She  paused  a  moment  and  then,  as  if  speaking  to  her 
self,  said:  "But  some  day  I  shall  meet  the  man  I'm 

looking  for — some  day " 

"When  you  do,  Shirley  Bloodgood,"  he  was  quick  to 
remind  her,  "it's  an  even  chance  that  he  won't  care  for 

you." 

Shirley  lost  no  time  in  retorting: — 

"It's  a  chance  I'm  going  to  take !  I  can  love,"  she  went 
on  wistfully,  "yes,"  and  then  blushing,  added  very 
tenderly :  "I  am  laying  my  soul  bare  to  you,  William 
Murgatroyd,  because  I  believe  somehow  that  you  have 
A  right  to  see  it.  Again  I  repeat:  Look  at  Mr. 
Thorne! — a  prospective  United  States  senator!" 

"You  admire  him  ?" 

"He  succeeds." 

"Do  you  know  why  it  may  be  possible  for  him  to  get 
the  nomination  for  senator?  Have  you  any  idea, 
young  woman,  what  it  costs  in  this  State  to  be  chosen 
senator?" 


THE  RED  MOUSE  127 

"Does  it  cost  anything?"  was  her  naive  rejoinder. 

"Just  about  three-quarters  of  a  million  to  swing  the 
thing!  Thorne  has  money  and  backing  and " 

"And  you  have  neither,"  she  finished  for  him. 

"Precisely." 

"Why  not  emulate  Mr.  Thorne  and  get  both?  To 
be  a  United  States  senator  is  one  of  the  few  great 
real  successes  possible  of  achievement  in  this  coun- 
try." 

"His  methods  are  not  mine,"  pleaded  the  prosecutor, 
falling  back  upon  his  platform. 

"Exactly.     He  secures  support;  you,  opposition." 

"Would  you  have  me  adopt  his  methods?" 

"I  would  have  you  secure  his  results,"  she  declared 
firmly. 

There  was  a  hungry  look  in  the  man's  eyes  as  he 
spoke : — 

"And  if  I  do?   .   :..   .   " 

"Oh,  if  you  only  would !"  her  young  voice  rang  out 
clearly,  hopefully. 

"And  I'll  find  you  waiting  for  me?" 

"At  the  top  of  the  hill,  Billy !"  She  held  out  her 
hand.  "Think  over  what  I've  said —  Good-bye !" 


IX 

AFTER  seeing  Miss  Bloodgood  to  her  carriage  Murga- 
troyd's  thoughts  were  in  a  maze  of  bewildering  com 
plexity.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  his  peace  of  mind  was 
wholly  gone;  and  it  was  with  a  far  different  feeling 
than  any  he  had  heretofore  experienced  that  he  sought 
his  down-town  club  for  luncheon.  It  chanced  to  be  at 
a  time  when  stocks  were  buoyant,  and  in  consequence 
the  atmosphere  of  the  dining-room  was  charged  with 
cheerfulness.  But  Murgatroyd  was  in  no  mood  to 
j  oin  any  of  the  various  groups  lunching  together ;  on 
the  contrary,  he  took  particular  pains  to  seat  himself 
at  a  small  table  apart  from  the  others,  where  he  gave 
himself  up  at  once  to  a  mental  rehearsal  of  the  scene 
in  his  office  a  half  hour  ago. 

Success  at  any  cost !  Yes,  that  was  the  way  she  had 
put  it.  Well,  and  why  not?  Was  not  that  the  mod 
ern  idea — the  spirit  of  the  age?  And  should  he  hold 
a  mere  slip  of  a  girl  responsible  for  putting  into  words 
what  every  woman  thinks  ?  Ridiculous !  .  .  .  And 
the  United  States  Senate  was  her  conception  of  great 
ness!  Ah,  that  was  for  Thome!  The  organisation, 
the  brewers,  the  railroads,  would  send  him  there — buy 
him  the  job!  Yes,  her  friend  Thorne  would  be  a  suc 
cess,  achieve  greatness ;  while  he,  William  Murga- 


THE  RED  MOUSE 

troyd,  would  be  likely  at  the  expiration  of  his  present 
term  of  office  to  find  himself  dead  politically,  become 
a  cipher  professionally  as  well. 

Presently  the  waiter  brought  his  luncheon.  None  of 
the  dishes  suited  him ;  the  servant  was  taken  to  task ; 
the  head-waiter  was  summoned;  the  dishes  were 
changed,  and  still  they  did  not  taste  right.  Finally 
muttering  to  himself  comments  derogatory  to  the 
club's  cuisine,  Murgatroyd  pushed  away  his  plate,  lit 
a  cigar  and  hastened  out  of  the  building. 

Lost  in  an  abyss  of  depression  he  sank  wearily  into 
the  seat  at  his  desk.  It  was  thus  that  McGrath  found 
him  when  he  entered  to  announce  that  he  had  brought 
down  Pemmican. 

Murgatroyd  stared  at  him  dully. 

"Pemmican?"  he  repeated.  "Who  the  deuce  is  Pem 
mican  ?" 

"Thunderation !"  burst  from  the  lips  of  McGrath. 
"Why,  your  star  witness  in  the  Challoner  case  1" 

This  brought  Murgatroyd  to  earth. 

"Well,  don't  bring  him  in,"  he  said  impatiently; 
"I'll  ring  when  I  want  you." 

McGrath  was  dumbfounded.  In  fact,  his  astonish 
ment  at  his  superior's  evident  disinclination  to  pro 
ceed  immediately  with  the  examination  of  Pemmican 
was  such  that  it  came  very  near  to  making  him  forget 
that  there  was  another  reason  for  his  presence  there. 


130  THE  RED  MOUSE 

"Another  lady  to  see  you,  counsellor,"  said  McGrath 
half -apologetically.  "It's  Mrs.  Challoner  this  time." 

Murgatroyd  looked  up  quickly. 

"Mrs.  Challoner!  Why  didn't  you  say  so  before? 
Show  her  in  at  once!"  And  as  that  person  came 
through  the  door  Murgatroyd  rose  and  went  forward 
to  meet  her,  saying: — 

"How  do  you  do,  Mrs.  Challoner?  If  you  had  let 
me  know  that  you  wished  to  see  me,  I  should  have  been 
glad  to  call  on  you.  What  can  I  do  for  you?" 

For  a  moment  Mrs.  Challoner  did  not  answer,  but 
looked  suspiciously  about  to  see  whether  any  one  else 
was  present. 

"Mr.  Murgatroyd,  I  do  not  wish  it  to  be  known  that 
I  have  come  here,"  she  began,  as  she  dropped  into  a 
chair.  She  looked  haggard,  pale  and  worn.  Her  man 
ner,  the  tone  of  her  voice,  at  once  indicated  to  the 
prosecutor  that  she  was  labouring  under  some  sup 
pressed  excitement.  It  was  a  situation  not  at  all  to 
his  liking,  and  he  watched  her  narrowly  while  she 
proceeded : — 

"I  have  come  to  see  what  can  be  done  for  my  hus 
band." 

"Miss  Bloodgood  was  here  a  short  time  ago  on  the 
same  errand,"  he  observed,  to  put  her  at  ease. 

"Miss  Bloodgood!"  Amazement  leaped  into  the 
young  wife's  tired,  brown  eyes,  "She  did  not  tell  me 


THE  RED  MOUSE  131 

she  was  coming — but  that's  just  like  her — she  never 
tells  half  the  good  things  she  does.  She's  a  friend — 
indeed,  Shirley's  a  good  friend." 

There  was  an  embarrassing  pause  in  which  both  were 
silent.  Apparently  she  was  nerving  herself  to  go  on. 
Presently  courage  came,  and  she  said : — 

"Will  you  tell  me,  please,  what  my  husband's  chances 
are?" 

"Every  man  is  supposed  to  be  innocent  until  he  is 
proven  guilty  .  .  .  But  first  as  last,  I  may  as  well 
inform  you,  Mrs.  Challoner,  that  I  can  do  nothing,  ab 
solutely  nothing  for  you.  Your  husband  must  stand 
trial!" 

"Yes,  yes,  I  know.  But  you  don't  quite  understand. 
The  man  was  not  himself.  Surely  you  must  know 
that !  Let  him  live,  Mr.  Murgatroyd ;  he's  worth  sav 
ing.  Give  him  time — a  chance.  He'll  be  good — I 
shall  make  him  good.  I  have  tried,  and  I  shall  con 
tinue  to  try  all  the  harder  ..." 

Murgatroyd  sat  motionless.  His  profile  was  toward 
Mrs.  Challoner.  It  was  a  clean-cut  profile,  and  upon 
its  contour  there  was  no  sign  of  yielding.  After  a 
while  he  looked  up  and  said : — 

"I  am  very  sorry  for  you,  Mrs.  Challoner,  and  I  dis 
like  intensely  to  hurt  your  feelings.  But  do  you  re 
alise  that  your  husband  .  .  .  shot  this  man  in  a 
quarrel  over " 


132  THE  RED  MOUSE 

Mrs.  Challoner  quickly  cut  him  short. 

"That  woman!  What  do  I  care  for  that!  You 
don't  know  what  my  husband  is  to  me !  I  love  him  no 
matter  what  he  has  done.  Besides,  it  was  all  my  fault. 
Let  me  tell  you  how  it  was.  Laurie  wanted  money — 
his  money  was  gone — he  had  spent  it  all,  and " 

Murgatroyd  held  up  his  hand. 

"I  cannot  let  you  speak  this  way.  You  are  simply 
supplying  me  with  evidence  against  him." 

"And  I  refused  him,"  continued  the  woman,  too 
excited  to  hear  what  the  prosecutor  was  saying. 
"I  hardened  my  heart  against  him — drove  him 
from  home,  and  then — this  dreadful  thing  hap 
pened." 

"It  would  be  dastardly  in  me  to  listen  further.  You 
are  making  your  husband's  guilt  more  evident  with 
every  word.  When  Hargraves  was  found  he  had  been 
robbed  of  ten  thousand  dollars !"  And  with  that  Mur 
gatroyd  rose  as  if  to  indicate  that  the  interview  was 
at  an  end.  "There  is  nothing  I  can  do,  Madam,"  he 
declared  flatly ;  and  then  added :  "There  never  was  but 
one  way  to  cure  a  man  like  Challoner;  it's  too  late 
now." 

Minutes  passed  .....  Murgatroyd  watched  her  in 
tently  ;  but  she  did  not  move :  she  sat  rigid  as  if  pre 
paring  herself  for  some  ordeal  yet  to  come.  All  of 
a  sudden  her  attitude  changed.  Mistrustfully  she 


THE  RED  MOUSE  133 

peered  about  her  once  more,  then  leaning  far  over 
toward  Murgatroyd,  she  whispered : — 

"We  are  alone?" 

The  lawyer  regarded  her  with  pardonable  curiosity 
before  he  answered : — 

"Yes.    Why  do  you  ask?" 

Mrs.  Challoner  wrung  her  hands;  she  seemed  uncer 
tain  how  to  proceed.  In  the  end  she  said : — 

"I  am  going  to  do  a  terrible  thing.  It  frightens  me 
almost  to  death.  I  don't  know  how  to  begin,  but  my 
love  for  Laurie  is  my  excuse  for  what  I  have  to  say. 
I  hope  you  won't  misunderstand  me.  Supposing  Shir 
ley  was  in  Laurie's  place — if  she  were  accused  of  crime, 
what  wouldn't  you  do  for  her?" 

"The  cases  are  hardly  parallel,"  he  answered  in 
differently. 

"They  are  precisely  parallel,"  she  maintained.  "You 
love  Shirley  as  I  love  Laurie — I  know  you  do.  Don't 
say  no — women  have  a  way  of  knowing  those  things." 
Her  eyes  sought  his  for  confirmation.  "Am  I  not 
right?" 

"I  would  do  anything  to  win  her,"  he  spoke  up 
quickly ;  evidently  she  took  the  rest  for  granted,  for 
she  continued  to  persevere : — 

"I  know  that  you  have  great  ambitions ;  and  with 
such  a  girl  at  your  side  there  is  no  reason  why  you 
should  not  become  a  great  man." 


THE  RED  MOUSE 

This  sudden  interest  on  her  part  in  matters  concern 
ing  his  future,  for  the  moment  rattled  him.  Neverthe 
less,  he  was  conscious  of  a  decided  sensation  of  relief 
that  the  conversation  had  taken  its  present  course; 
and  her  words :  "With  such  a  girl  at  your  side"  found 
a  welcome  in  his  heart.  On  her  part,  Mrs.  Challoner 
was  becoming  more  and  more  composed.  And  now  in 
a  voice  that  seemed  to  him  ringing  with  conviction,  she 
went  on : — 

"You  will  have  up-hill  work,  I  know.  Your  party 
is  against  you  and  all  that  sort  of  thing ;  but  if  only 
for  Shirley's  sake,  I  want  you — you  must  succeed !" 

For  some  reason  which  he  did  not  attempt  to  explain 
Murgatroyd  found  himself  actually  confessing  to  this 
woman  that  he  thought  he  deserved  to  win  out. 

"It's  only  money  that  you  lack,  I  know,"  she  ven 
tured  now.  "With  money  they  couldn't  keep  you 
down.  With  money  of  your  own — "  she  stopped 
abruptly ;  the  tension  was  getting  too  much  for  her. 
Presently  she  cried  out:  "Oh,  Mr.  Murgatroyd, 
don't  you  see  what  I  mean,  and  won't  you  help 
me?" 

But  he  failed  to  understand  her  meaning,  and  was 
obliged  to  ask  her  to  explain  herself.  He  was  staring 
hard  at  her  now. 

And  then  at  last  it  came  out. 

"Only  this,  Mr.  Murgatroyd,"  she  said,  meeting  his 


THE  RED  MOUSE  135 

gaze.  "I  will  give  you  one  hundred  thousand  dollars 
to  set  my  husband  free !" 

Murgatroyd  instantly  sprang  to  his  feet. 

"You  mean  to  bribe  me !" 

Miriam  Challoner  cowered  before  him.  She  had  not 
put  the  matter  to  him  in  quite  the  way  she  had  in 
tended.  She  was  desperately  afraid  that  she  had  de 
stroyed  all  hope  of  success  by  blurting  it  out  like  this. 
"Please  don't  be  hard  on  me — condemn  me,"  she 
begged  as  one  before  the  judgment  seat.  "I  know  it's 
awful!" 

For  a  full  half  minute  Murgatroyd  fastened  his  gaze 
on  her  face.  Then  he  walked  to  the  door,  stepped  in 
side  the  vault  and  satisfied  himself  that  there  was  no 
one  there,  looked  into  every  corner  of  the  room  and 
underneath  the  table;  and  when  at  last  he  was  con 
vinced  that  he  had  taken  every  precaution,  he  came 
back  and  stood  directly  in  front  of  the  woman  and 
told  her  to  repeat  what  she  had  said. 

In  fear  and  trembling  she  reiterated  her  words : — 

"I  will  give  you  one  hundred  thousand  dollars  to  set 
my  husband  free !" 

"Mrs.  Challoner,"  the  prosecutor  asked,  falling  into 
his  habit  of  putting  finger-tip  to  finger-tip,  "how 
much  money  have  you?" 

"In  all?" 

Murgatroyd  nodded. 


136  THE  RED  MOUSE 

"In  just  a  minute   .;   .    .   ' 

With  a  hard  look  on  his  face  Murgatroyd  watched 
her  pull  a  little  book  from  a  bag,  watched  her  take  out 
the  stub  of  a  pencil,  waited  while  she  busied  herself  in 
adding  figures,  waited  until  at  the  end  of  a  short  cal 
culation  she  looked  up  at  him  and  made  known  the 
result. 

"In  all,  I  have  about  eight  hundred  and  sixty  thou 
sand  dollars  left." 

"What?"  exclaimed  the  prosecutor,  unable  to  con 
ceal  his  astonishment.  For  since  he  had  begun  his  in 
vestigations  it  had  come  to  him  that  Mrs.  Challoner's 
affairs  were  in  a  bad  way.  A  moment  later  he  said: 

"And  that   eight   hundred   thousand   dollars   or    so 
is " 

"All  in  negotiable  securities,"  she  promptly  assured 
him,  "payable  to  bearer.  I  get  six  and  seven  per  cent, 
on  some  of  them — the  old  ones." 

"Where  are  these  securities?" 

"In  the  Fidelity  Safe  Deposit  vaults." 

"In  addition  to  these,"  went  on  Murgatroyd,  "you 
have  your  house  on  the  Avenue?" 

"Yes.    There's  a  small  equity  in  it." 

He  raised  his  eyebrows. 

"It  is  subject  to  mortgage,  then?" 

"Of  course,"  she  answered  glibly.  "I  get  six  per 
cent,  on  most  of  my  securities,  and  have  to  pay  only 


THE  RED  MOUSE  137 

four  and  a  half  on  my  mortgage.  It  would  have  been 
foolish  to  pay  it  off." 

Murgatroyd  smiled  a  cold  smile. 

"You're  quite  a  business  woman,  Mrs.  Challoner." 

"I  have  to  be,"  she  acknowledged  with  a  smile  that 
was  intensely  pathetic. 

"And  that's  all  you  have?"  he  asked  a  moment  later. 

"Absolutely." 

"Your  house,"  mused  Murgatroyd,  half  to  himself, 
"will  take  care  of  Thome's  fee." 

"How  much  will  that  be?" 

Murgatroyd  jerked  his  head  nervously. 

"Thorne? — Oh,  he'll  take  all  he  can  get !"  There  was 
a  short  silence  which  Murgatroyd  suddenly  broke. 
"Mrs.  Challoner,  your  attempt  to  bribe  is  no  longer 
an  attempt.  You  have  succeeded.  I  shall  set.  your 
husband  free !" 

Mrs.  Challoner  smiled  while  the  tears  trickled  down 
her  cheeks. 

"I  shall  get  you  the  hundred  thousand  dollars  right 
away,"  she  said,  as  if  it  were  a  mere  bagatelle. 

"Just  one  moment,  please,"  continued  Murgatroyd, 
waving  her  back  into  her  seat,  for  she  had  risen.  "I 
shall  set  your  husband  free  for  eight  hundred  and 
sixty  thousand  dollars!" 

Miriam  Challoner  leaned  back  in  her  chair.  She 
seemed  to  hesitate. 


138  THE  RED  MOUSE 

"For  everything  I  have!"  she  muttered  half  aloud. 

Murgatroyd  reached  over  and  touched  her  on  the 
arm,  and  repeated  in  the  same  tone: — 

"Everything  you  have!"  And  added:  "Surely 
you  did  not  think  that  I  would  sell  myself  for 
less?" 

"No,  no,  of  course  not,"  she  faltered.  "I  wish  I  had 
millions  to  give  you.  You  are  a  good  man — you  are 
doing  a  good  act." 

Murgatroyd  shook  his  head  and  said  somewhat  impa 
tiently  : — 

"Mrs.  Challoner,  this  is  a  business  transaction;  let 
us  close  it.  You  can  get  those  securities  to-day,  I 
suppose  ?" 

"Yes,"  she  replied  in  the  next  breath,  the  flush  of  joy 
still  on  her  face. 

"Then  do  so,  please."  His  voice  was  hoarse  now. 
"And  bring  them  to  me  here  wrapped  up  in  brown 
paper.  You  understand  that  nobody  must  know  about 
this.  You  know  what  it  would  mean  to  me,  to  you,  to 
Challoner  ..." 

"Yes,  yes,"  she  cried  eagerly,  and  held  out  her  hand. 
"It's  an  agreement." 

But  Murgatroyd  purposely  ignored  her  hand  and 
abruptly  turned  away,  saying: — 

"This  matter  must  be  closed  at  once." 

And  with  a  confident  "I'll  be  back  in  half  an  hour,'* 


THE  RED  MOUSE 

Mrs.  Challoner  passed  out  of  the  door,  which  Murga- 

troyd  had  softly  and  noiselessly  unlocked. 

***** 

The  man  who  presently  was  brought  out  of  the 
barred  anteroom  and  taken  before  the  prosecutor 
might  have  been  anything  from  a  floor-walker  of  a  big 
department  store  to  a  manager  of  a  renowned  raths 
keller.  It  was  evident  from  the  manner  in  which  he 
bore  himself  while  under  the  constant  surveillance  of 
the  minions  of  the  law,  that  he  was  perfectly  at  home 
in  the  presence  of  strangers,  and  that  unusual  situa 
tions  did  not  f  eaze  him.  In  the  matter  of  general 
adornment  of  the  person,  however,  Pemmican  of  the 
low  brow  was  an  exception  to  his  class:  no  diamond 
blazed  from  his  shirt-front  or  fingers ;  moreover,  he 
was  dressed  in  the  most  sombre  of  blacks,  and  under  his 
soft  felt  hat  of  the  same  colour  the  hair  was  brushed 
forward  with  scrupulous  care.  The  long,  thin, 
smooth-shaven  face,  the  little,  deep-set  eyes,  the  ab 
normally  low  brow,  which  was  accentuated  by  this  odd 
arrangement  of  his  hair,  the  pasty  complexion,  all 
gave  one  the  impression  of  dignified  sleekness.  In 
other  words,  one  could  easily  have  pictured  the  man  as 
performing  in  a  most  impressive  manner  the  last  of 
fices  needed  by  man  here  below.  To  sum  up,  the  at 
titude  of  the  man  now  waiting  for  the  prosecutor  to 
address  him — Pemmican  of  the  low  brow  always 


140  THE  RED  MOUSE 

knew  his  place — produced  the  effect  of  distressed 
meekness. 

"Pemmican,"  said  Murgatroyd,  all  geniality  and 
good-fellowship  now,  "how  are  they  treating  you?" 
And  then,  with  a  chuckle :  "You  look  peaked,  my  man !" 

It  was  second  nature  to  Pemmican  to  swallow  his  in 
dignation  and  simulate  cheerfulness,  but  he  answered 
peevishly : — 

"No  wonder  I'm  all  to  the  bad.  But  why  am  I  kept 
locked  up  in  this  house  of  detention?" 

McGrath  grinned  and  spoke  for  the  prosecutor. 

"Witnesses  is  wary  game  and  scarce ;  it  ain't  always 
the  open  season,  so  we  got  to  keep  'em  in  cold  storage, 
see?" 

Pemmican  ignored  this  remark,  but  turned  to  the 
prosecutor,  and  there  was  a  whine  in  the  voice  that 
said : — 

"You  made  my  bail  so  infernally  large  that  my 
friends  would  not  put  it  up  for  me." 

"I  did  it  purposely,"  Murgatroyd  declared,  still 
smiling.  -"This  is  an  important  case ;  you  are  the  only 
witness ;  and  I've  got  to  keep  you  where  your  friends 
cannot  reach  you — "  here  a  faint  flush  spread  over  the 
prosecutor's  countenance — "cannot  corrupt  you,  Pem 
mican." 

Suddenly  Murgatroyd  rose  from  his  revolving  chair. 
He  nodded  a  dismissal  to  McGrath ;  and  then  going 


THE  RED  MOUSE  141 

over  to  a  table  in  the  centre  of  the  room,  he  drew  to 
him  a  sheet  of  foolscap  from  a  pile  lying  there,  and 
said : — 

"Come  over  here,  Pemmican !"  There  was  an  article 
of  some  kind  in  the  hand  that  rested  on  the  table. 
"Just  sketch  me  here — on  this  paper — a  little  plan 
showing  the  position  of  the  men  in  Room  A  that 
night." 

"Sure,"  volunteered  Pemmican,  taking  the  proffered 
pencil;  "now,  here  was  Colonel  Hargraves,  here 

was " 

.  He  stopped  abruptly.  For  he  had  seen  that  the 
article  in  Murgatroyd's  hand  was  a  wallet  marked 
"R.  H." 

"Go  on !"  said  Murgatroyd. 

"And  here  was — "  Pemmican  stopped  again. 

"What  are  you  looking  at?"  Murgatroyd  asked. 
"Oh,  that?  he  said  casually,  and  passed  the  wallet  to 
Pemmican. 

Pemmican  started  and  backed  away. 

"I  don't  want  it.  It  ain't  mine.  I  don't  know  what  it 
is — what  is  it,  anyhow?"  he  gulped.  "No,  coun 
sellor,"  he  added;  "and  besides,  I  wasn't  looking  at 
it." 

Murgatroyd  patted  the  wallet. 

"It  was  Colonel  Hargraves's  pocketbook,"  he  said. 
"I  thought  you  recognised  it." 


THE  RED  MOUSE 

"Never  saw  it  before,  counsellor,"  he  repeated  sul 
kily  ;  "never  saw  it  before." 

"You  must  have  seen  it,"  persisted  Murgatroyd; 
"it's  pretty  well  worn,  and  he  must  have  carried  it  a 
long  time.  He  was  one  of  your  patrons.  The  fact 
is,  Pemmican,"  he  went  on,  "this  wallet  was  the  occa 
sion  of  my  sending  for  you  just  now.  I  am  informed 
that  when  Hargraves  last  carried  it  the  wallet  was 
full  of  bills ;  and  when  he  was  found  in  the  street  it 
was  quite  empty.  It  is  a  mere  detail,  but  I  should  like 
to  know  whether  Challoner  robbed  this  man  as  well  as 
killed  him." 

Pemmican  slowly  shook  his  head. 

"Can't  help  you  out,"  he  answered,  "for  I  never  saw 
the  wallet.  I  don't  know  .  .  *.  *• 

Murgatroyd  went  off  on  another  tack. 

"Very  well,  then ;  but  there's  another  thing  that  you 
may  clear  up  ...  By  the  way,  Pemmican,  perhaps 
you  don't  know  that  Challoner  has  confessed?" 

Pemmican's  physiognomy  lost  its  doleful  appear 
ance.  And  he  cried  j  oyf ully : — 

"Confessed?  Gee,  that's  good — great!  Confessed? 
Well,  say,  counsellor,  it  just  had  to  come  to  that!" 

"Yes,"  conceded  Murgatroyd;  "but  there's  another 
thing  which  bothers  me,  though  I  don't  know  that  it 
complicates  matters  exactly.  It's  a  mere  detail  again. 
Challoner  says  he  shot  his  man  in  Room  A  in  Cradle- 


THE  RED  MOUSE  143 

baugh's ;  you  say  the  quarrel  took  place  there,  that 
Hargraves  went  out  first,  and  that  Challoner  followed 
him.  Hargraves,  as  we  know,  was  found  dead  in  the 
street  above.  That's  right — isn't  it?" 

"Sure,"  returned  Pemmican,  positively.  "I  didn't 
see  him  fire  the  shot;  nobody  saw  that.  It's  a  good 
thing,  though,  because  between  you  and  me,  Prosecu 
tor,  notwithstanding  my  testimony  I  thought  that 
you'd  have  some  trouble  in  making  out  a  case.  Cir 
cumstances  is  something,  but  they  ain't  everything, 
you  know." 

Murgatroyd  agreed  to  this,  and  added: — 

"We've  got  certainty  now,  because  he's  confessed — 
but  he's  mixed  as  to  the  place  of  the  shooting.  He 
thinks  it  was  in  your  place — that  you  were  present, 
that's  all." 

Murgatroyd  seemed  satisfied.  He  sat  down  at  his 
desk  and  from  a  drawer  he  drew  a  box  of  cigars.  Now 
he  leaned  toward  Pemmican  and  said  confidentially : — 

"Pemmican,  I  want  your  testimony  in  this  case — 
I  want  it  right.  Have  a  cigar?" 

Pemmican  accepted,  and  finding  a  ready  match  in  his 
pocket,  struck  it  on  the  heel  of  his  boot  and  lighted 
the  cigar  before  the  slow-moving  Murgatroyd  could 
pass  him  his  matchbox. 

"Thank  you,  counsellor,  I  have  one,"  he  said,  and 
blew  a  cloud  of  smoke  to  the  ceiling.  "You  can  de- 


144.  THE  RED  MOUSE 

pend  on  me ;  I'll  tell  the  truth — the  whole  truth  and 
nothing  but  the  truth,  so  help  me — "  His  gaze  re 
turned  again  to  the  pigskin  wallet  on  the  desk.  "But 
say,  I  never  saw  that  thing  before." 

Murgatroyd  picked  it  up  and  spoke  in  a  still  lower 
tone  now. 

"Pemmican,  suppose  I  were  to  fill  this  with,  well,  say 
ten  thousand  dollars  and  give  it  to  you;  how  would 
you  testify  in  this  case,  eh?" 

"But,"  protested  Pemmican,  "I  never  saw  ten  thou 
sand  dollars  in  it —  No  .  .  .  ' 

"No,"  repeated  Murgatroyd ;  "but  if  you  should  right 
now  have  it  filled  with  ten  thousand  dollars,  how  would 
you  testify  for  me  ?" 

Pemmican  stolidly  shook  his  head  and  answered : 

"To  the  truth,  counsellor — I'm  an  honest  man." 

Murgatroyd  still  persisted. 

"How  much  would  you  take,  Pemmican,"  he  went  on, 
"to  swear  that  Challoner  did  not  commit  this  crime?" 

Pemmican  started  back  in  alarm,  and  once  more 
shook  his  head. 

"Counsellor,  I'm  an  honest  man,"  he  answered  dog 
gedly. 

Murgatroyd  gave  it  up  as  a  bad  job. 

"You're  honest,  all  right,  Pemmican,"  he  said.  "You 
can  go  back  now ;  but  I'll  have  you  down  again  before 
the  trial,  and  together  we'll  go  over  the  testimony 


THE  RED  MOUSE  145 

carefully."  He  placed  his  hand  upon  the  other's  arm, 
"You  see,  I'm  most  particular  about  this  case."  The 
next  moment  Mixley  and  McGrath  entered  and  took 

Pemmican  away. 

***** 

Fifteen  minutes  later  Mrs.  Challoner  arrived.  She 
was  accompanied  by  Stevens,  the  butler,  carrying  a 
large  parcel,  which  he  deposited  on  the  prosecutor's 
table  as  directed.  He  was  then  dismissed;  and  when 
the  door  had  closed  on  him,  the  man  and  the  woman 
stood  for  a  few  minutes  listening  in  silence  to  his  re 
treating  footsteps.  Then  in  low,  rapid  tones  Mrs. 
Challoner  assured  the  prosecutor  that  she  had  accom 
plished  her  purpose  without  arousing  the  suspicions  of 
any  one — not  even  the  servant.  Murgatroyd  noise 
lessly  locked  the  door,  and  putting  his  hand  upon  the 
parcel  on  the  table,  looked  at  her  interrogatively. 

"Yes — the  securities — they're  all  there,"  she  hast 
ened  to  assure  him. 

"Shall  I " 

Mrs.  Challoner's  hand  waved  her  permission.  The 
big,  heavy  parcel  had  been  clumsily  tied  up  with  brown 
paper.  This,  Murgatroyd  tore  off,  and  there  stood 
revealed  two  long,  sheet-iron  boxes,  old  and  somewhat 
battered.  They  were  heavily  sealed,  and  across  each 
on  a  pasted  piece  of  paper  appeared  in  big  letters  the 
name  "Miriam  Challoner." 


146  THE  RED  MOUSE 

"I  brought  them  just  as  they  were,"  she  went  on  to 
explain.  "You  may  break  the  seals,  scratch  off  my 
name,  and  then  they  will  be  yours  to  do  with  as  you 
please." 

"For  the  present,"  Murgatroyd  told  himself,  as  his 
eyes  fell  on  the  vault  door,  "that  will  be  their  resting 
place."  And  turning  to  her,  he  said  aloud : — 

"The  deal  is  closed.  You  understand  the  terms? 
Everything  is  left  to  me — I  am  to  free  your  husband 
• — I  am  to  keep  your  money  ?" 

"Yes,"  she  breathed,  as  if  some  heavy  burden  had 
rolled  from  her  young  shoulders. 

And  now  for  the  first  time  Murgatroyd  looked  Mir 
iam  Challoner  full  in  the  face,  and  said  solemnly : — 

"One  thing  more:  absolutely  no  one  must  know  of 
this.  Not  Challoner,  nor  Thorne,  and  above  all,  not 
Miss  Bloodgood.  Everything  depends  on  your  silence 
- — your  silence  is  the  essence  of  this  contract.  You 
agree?" 

Mrs.  Challoner  bowed. 

"I  do."  And  she  might  have  been  taking  an  oath 
from  the  way  she  said  it. 

"Remember  you  will  say  nothing  to  Miss  Blood- 
good  .  .  .  ' 

"Shirley  will  never  know   of  it." 

"Most  decidedly  not  Shirley."  But  the  prosecutor 
remarked  this  to  himself  when  once  more  he  was  alone. 


THE  trial  of  James  Lawrence  Challoner  had  pro 
gressed  with  uncommon  haste,  the  fourth  day  finding 
all  the  witnesses  heard  and  the  case  ready  to  sum  up 
to  the  jury.  The  court-room  was  crowded:  the  news 
papers  were  there;  the  people  were  there;  public 
opinion  was  there.  Brief  and  to  the  point  had  been 
the  State's  case — made  up  out  of  Pemmican's  evidence 
and  the  confession  of  the  prisoner.  But  in  the  prose 
cutor's  presentment  of  his  evidence  there  had  been  an 
undercurrent  as  unusual  as  it  was  unexpected:  every 
question  that  he  hurled  at  Pemmican  had  a  hidden 
meaning;  every  interrogation  point  had  a  sting  hid 
den  in  its  tail.  Not  that  he  made  any  attempt  to 
switch  the  issue  or  to  side-track  the  facts,  but  it  was 
clearly  apparent  that  from  start  to  finish  he  was  mak 
ing  a  supreme  effort  to  include  within  his  facts,  to 
embrace  within  the  issue  and  to  place  on  trial,  together 
with  the  prisoner,  one  other  culprit  in  this  celebrated 
case — Cradlebaugh's. 

However,  if  such  were  the  prosecutor's  chief  purpose, 
it  failed.  Thorne,  the  counsel  for  the  defence — who 
represented  more  than  one  client  in  this  case — met  him 
at  every  turn,  parried  his  every  thrust. 

"Objection  sustained,"  the  Court  had  ruled  wearily 


148  THE  RED  MOUSE 

many  times  during  the  trial,  "the  prosecutor  will  pro 
ceed." 

And  upon  such  occasions  Graham  Thorne,  from  the 
counsel's  table  in  the  front,  had  flashed  a  triumphant 
glance  at  Peter  Broderick ;  and  Peter  Broderick,  in 
turn,  from  his  seat  in  the  rear  of  the  court-room, 
would  return  the  gaze  with  a  smile,  the  brilliancy  of 
which  was  outshone  only  by  the  big  diamond  that 
blazed  from  where  it  rested  comfortably  on  his  highly 
coloured  shirt-front.  To  these  two — not  in  the  least 
interested  in  the  outcome  of  the  trial,  so  far  as  Chal- 
loner  was  concerned — the  case  was  highly  satisfactory. 
There  was  no  crevice  in  the  mystery  of  Cradlebaugh's 
in  which  Murgatroyd  could  insert  the  thin  edge  of  a 
wedge;  its  foundation  still  remained  unshaken  after 
the  impact  of  his  battering  ram;  the  Challoner  case 
was  to  be  the  Challoner  case,  and  nothing  more. 

.  .  .  "That's  all,  Mr.  Pemmican,"  were  the  words 
with  which  the  prosecutor  had  concluded  the  examina 
tion  of  his  principal  witness. 

On  Pemmican  of  the  low  brow  leaving  the  witness 
stand,  he  had  glanced  expectantly  toward  the  counsel 
for  the  defence.  Throughout  the  trial  there  was  in 
his  manner  a  peculiar  deference  toward  Thorne  which 
had  been  there  from  the  first  day.  Under  Murga- 
troyd's  sharp  interrogation  he  had  seemed  quite  at 
case ;  but  his  attitude  toward  Thorne  had  always  ap- 


THE  RED  MOUSE  149 

peared  to  be  that  of  a  man  whose  hand  was  constantly 
kept  raised  to  ward  off  blows.  However,  notwith 
standing  that  he  had  been  recalled  at  least  five  times, 
Pemmican,  on  the  whole,  apparently  was  well  satisfied 
with  his  performance.  Unquestionably  he  had  been 
loyal  and  wary,  and  had  confined  his  testimony  as  to 
motive  to  the  woman  in  the  case — a  row  over  a  lady — 
keeping  that  portentous  game  of  cards  well  into  the 
background — out  of  sight. 

"Surely  you're  not  going  to  detain  me  any  longer?" 
whispered  Pemmican  to  the  officers  who  had  placed 
themselves  on  either  side  of  him.  "What!  You're 
not  going  to  let  me  go  ?" 

"Not  on  your  life !"  remarked  one  of  them  genially ; 
and  showing  to  the  prisoner  a  slip  of  paper  which  he 
drew  from  his  pocket:  "There's  a  warrant  for  your 
arrest." 

Pemmican  for  a  moment  looked  bewildered  and  mur 
mured  incredulously: — 

"...   my  arrest?" 

"Sure,"  replied  the  officer.  "The  chief's  begun  his 
raid  on  Cradlebaugh's,  and  you're  one  of  the  main 
guys  .  .  .  ' 

Pemmican  wiped  his  forehead  and  stammered  sulk- 

ily:- 

"And — and  the  prosecutor's  goin'  to  lock  me  up  af 
ter  all  I've  done  for  him?" 


150  THE  RED  MOUSE 

"That's  what!"  replied  the  officer,  and  a  moment 
later  added  complacently :  "Unless  you  can  get  bail." 

"Confound  'em!"  exclaimed  Pemmican.  "They 
won't  go  my  bail !" 

The  detective  placed  his  ear  quite  close  to  Pemmican. 

"Who  won't  go  your  bail?"  he  queried  interestedly. 

Pemmican  smiled. 

"They,"  he  returned,  not  for  an  instant  off  his 
guard. 

"If  Prosecutor  Murgatroyd  only  knew  who  they 
are,"  went  on  the  detective,  "if  he  knew  who  backed 
you  up,  there'd  be  some  interesting  goings  on  'round 
here." 

"He  won't  find  out  from  me,"  replied  Pemmican,  dog 
gedly.  "I  play  a  straight  game  with  the  men  who 
hand  out  my  bread  and  butter.  You  can  lay  your  bets 
on  that !" 

"Sh-h-h- !  The  prosecutor's  talkin'  over  there," 
whispered  the  detective,  raising  his  hand,  and  he 
hustled  the  prisoner  out  of  the  room,  as  Murgatroyd, 
rising  once  more,  bowed  toward  the  bench  and  an 
nounced  : — • 

"The  State  rests,  if  the  Court  please." 

And  then  Thorne  at  his  end  of  the  table  also  rose  to 
his  feet  and  declared: — 

"The  defence  rests." 

Presently  he  began  to  address  the  Jury.    During  the 


THE  RED  MOUSE  151 

trial  his  line  of  defence  had  been  insanity — the  de 
fence  of  the  defenceless,  the  forlorn  hope  of  the  hope 
less.  The  Bench  had  frowned  at  it;  the  Jury  had 
shaken  its  head  as  one  man:  insanity  to  juries  in  the 
metropolis  had  become  as  a  red  rag  to  a  bull.  But 
the  crowd  in  the  court-room  had  leaned  forward  with 
huge  expectation, — waiting  for  the  hidden  places  to 
be  revealed  with  much  the  same  anticipation  and  in 
terest  one  experiences  in  waiting  for  the  denoue 
ment  of  a  stage  drama. 

Before  turning  to  the  jury,  however,  for  his  last  ef 
fort,  Thome  stooped  down  for  an  instant  and  whis 
pered  to  Mrs.  Challoner : — 

"I'm  sorry,  Mrs.  Challoner,  that  we  couldn't  do 
better  with  our  facts.  It  seems  to  me  to  be  the 
weakest  defence  I  have  ever  seen  put  up  in  any 
case.  Indeed,  it  seems  to  me  we  have  no  defence  at 
all." 

But  somewhat  to  his  astonishment  this  remark  was  re 
ceived  by  Miriam  Challoner  with  that  same  degree  of 
confidence  that  had  characterised  her  attitude  all 
through  the  trial.  On  her  face  was  a  certain  unex- 
plainable  something  which  not  only  he  had  noted  but 
which  the  people  had  noted,  the  men  at  the  press-table 
had  noted,  and  commented  upon  freely  in  their  copy — 
a  glow  that  had  never  faded  from  the  eyes  of  the  wo 
man,  a  flush  upon  her  cheek  that  had  never  paled,  and 


152  THE  RED  MOUSE 

which  said  more  plainly  than  words  that  she  was  cer 
tain  of  the  acquittal  of  her  husband. 

"Devilish  fine  actress !"  Thorne  thought  to  himself, 
for  such  optimism  in  a  case  like  this  was  wholly  be 
yond  his  comprehension ;  and  it  was  with  a  certain  feel 
ing  of  admiration  that  he  heard  her  whisper  with  a  re 
assuring  smile : — 

"You're  making  a  glorious  fight,  Mr.  Thorne ;  you're 
bound  to  succeed." 

And  indeed,  such  was  her  marvellous  hopefulness, 
that  it  succeeded  in  enheartening  him,  and  was  re 
flected  in  his  illustrations  to  the  jury  when  dwelling 
at  some  length  on  the  many  fine  points  in  the  character 
of  the  accused.  He  was  particularly  happy  in  im 
pressing  upon  his  hearers  that  Challoner  was  a  man 
with  a  most  peculiar  temperament  and  mental  bias; 
that  if  Challoner  had  taken  the  life  of  Colonel  Har- 
graves,  it  was  only  after  the  man's  soul  and  mind  had 
eaten  poison  from  the  hands  of  his  enemy — Colonel 
Hargraves. 

Of  the  life  and  character  of  that  gentleman,  he  had 
little  to  add  to  what  was  already  known,  and  was  seem 
ingly  content  to  dismiss  him  with : — 

"The  least  said  of  him  the  better,  now  that  he  is 
gone." 

Thorne  paused. 

.Suddenly  he  assumed  a  dramatic  pose,  and  now  turn- 


THE  RED  MOUSE  153 

ing  toward  a  beautiful  and  fashionably  gowned 
young  woman  with  a  bar  of  sunlight  streaming  down 
her  face,  who  occupied  a  seat  underneath  the  third 
high  window  in  the  court-room,  he  riveted  his  gaze  on 
her,  all  eyes  following  in  that  direction. 

"There,"  he  said,  his  voice  sinking  to  a  whisper,  but 
a  whisper  that  could  be  heard  all  over  the  court-room, 
"is  the  woman  in  the  case — the  real  culprit !  A  temp 
tress  !  A  vampire !  A  Circe !  A  woman  who  has  made 
a  mess  of  the  lives  of  two  men,  and  only  God  knows 
how  many  others !  A  woman  who  played  the  game 
to  her  own  selfish  ends !  .:  .  ..  And  here  you  have 
the  result !" 

For  a  full  minute  Letty  Love  unblushingly  re 
turned  the  lawyer's  probing  glances ;  plainly  she  re 
joiced  in  the  stares  which  she  felt  were  focussed  upon 
her, — for  no  one  knew  better  than  she  that  her  beauty 
was  infecting  all  present, — and  it  was  not  until  she  had 
drunk  her  fill  of  the  cup  of  publicity  that  she  turned 
her  head  away  and  looked  out  upon  the  sunlit  street. 

From  where  he  sat  Challoner,  too,  was  able  for  a 
brief  moment  to  see  the  face  of  the  woman  who  was  re 
sponsible  for  his  misfortunes.  That  same  second,  how 
ever,  brought  his  wife  also  into  his  line  of  vision,  mak 
ing  it  possible  for  him  to  contrast  the  two  counte 
nances  ;  and  he  was  surprised  to  find  himself  not  only 
admiring  the  wealth  of  colouring  and  glow  upon  Mir- 


154  THE  RED  MOUSE 

iam's  face,  but  actually  loathing  himself  for  ever  hav 
ing  admired  the  ugly  lines  which  he  now  saw  on  the 
sunlit  face  of  Letty  Love;  and  his  whole  nature  re 
volted  against  her. 

"If  only  I  had  left  her  to  Colonel  Hargraves,"  he 
muttered  to  himself;  and  immersed  in  similar  bitter 
reflections,  he  lost  all  but  his  counsel's  concluding 
words : — 

"...  and  all  that  I  want,  all  that  I  ask  of  you, 
gentlemen  of  the  jury,  is  that  you  give  us  what  we 
have  not  had  so  far — a  fair,  square  deal !" 

Thorne  sat  down,  satisfied  that  he  had  made  an  im 
pression.  At  all  events,  he  had  done  the  best  he  could 
— under  the  circumstances.  Out  of  his  material  he  had 
hewn  the  inevitable  result — debauchery;  out  of  this 
debauchery  he  fashioned  the  conclusion — insanity ;  out 
of  a  victim  he  had  made  a  murderer;  out  of  a  mur 
derer  he  had  made  a  hero  whose  irresponsible  emo 
tions  cried  out  to  a  jury  of  his  peers  for  justice, 
even  for  retribution  against  the  murdered  man.  Base 
metal  though  it  were,  it  seemed  pure  gold  to  his  listen 
ers.  Even  the  jurors  drew  long  breaths  and  looked 
each  other  questioningly  in  the  eye;  the  crowd  mur 
mured  its  sympathy;  and  Thorne,  glancing  at  the 
little  coterie  behind  the  prisoner,  was  pleased  to  see 
that  even  in  the  eyes  of  Shirley  Bloodgood  he  had 
raised  a  new  hope  for  Challoner. 


THE  RED  MOUSE  155 

In  the  interim  that  followed  Shirley  and  Miriam 
leaned  over  and  shook  hands  with  Thorne. 

"We  can't  lose,"  whispered  Miriam ;  and  again  there 
returned  to  her  face  that  mysterious  expression  of 
confidence  which  was  decidedly  inexplicable  to  her  law 
yer.  And  so  it  was  that  a  little  while  later  he  turned 
to  Shirley  and  said: — 

"Does  she  understand  that  we  must  lose?" 

Miss  Bloodgood  shook  her  head. 

"Oh,  no !  No  one  can  tell  her  that."  And  bestowing 
on  him  a  rare  smile,  she  added:  "And  now,  Mr. 
Thorne,  after  what  you  have  said  no  one  can  tell  me 
that  either." 

Well  pleased  with  her  flattery,  Thorne  returned  the 
smile,  but  he  warned  her  that  when  those  twelve  men 
got  into  the  jury  room  they  would  get  down  to  facts. 

And  it  so  happened  that  the  twelve  men  got  down  to 
the  facts  before  they  even  started  for  the  jury  room, 
for  already  the  prosecutor  had  begun  his  speech  and 
was  stripping  the  case  of  everything  save  the  truth. 

"This,  gentlemen,"  he  now  told  the  jury,  quietly,  "is 
not  an  unusual  case ;  it's  an  every-day  story  growing 
out  of  jealousy  and  hatred ;  one  bad  man  shot  another 
bad  man — that's  all." 

At  this  the  temperature  of  the  crowd  dropped  from 
the  fever-heat  of  frenzied  sympathy  down  to  the 
freezing-point  of  common-sense.  Challoner  stirred 


156  THE  RED  MOUSE 

uneasily;  Shirley  Bloodgood  shivered;  only  Miriam 
Challoner  sat  with  the  same  placid  look  on  her  face. 

Murgatroyd  now  left  his  jury,  walked  to  the  table 
where  the  prisoner  sat,  and  without  taking  his  eyes 
from  the  face  of  the  accused,  he  continued : — 

"  .  .  .  This  man  Challoner  is  a  wilful,  deliberate 
murderer !  This  is  not  his  first  offence — he  began  to 
murder  years  ago  .  .  .  ' 

At  this  point  the  prosecutor  went  back  to  the  time 
when  Challoner  married  a  beautiful  young  girl,  em 
phasising  the  fact  that  he  had  married  this  mere  slip 
of  a  girl  for  her  money. 

"Her  money!  And  he  has  never  earned  a  dollar 
since!"  he  told  his  listeners  with  great  scorn.  "And 
his  life !  What  has  he  made  of  it  ?  Ah !  You  men 
know  the  things  that  are  done  in  this  city  between  mid 
night  and  morning,  and  the  up-hill  fight  that  is  being 
made  to  clean  it  of  corruption  and  vice!  Well,  this 
degenerate,  this  profligate,  did  these  things  of  the  un 
der-world.  They  appealed  to  him;  he  was  no  mere 
youth  to  be  led  astray !" 

Challoner  winced;  not  that  he  quailed  before  the 
menacing  posture  that  the  prosecutor  had  assumed, 
but  because  of  a  guilty  consciousness  that  the  accus 
ing  lips  meant  every  word  that  they  uttered.  The  audi 
ence  shifted  uneasily  in  their  seats;  Shirley  Blood- 
good  held  her  breath  as  she  placed  a  protecting  arm 


THE  RED  MOUSE  157 

about  Miriam,  which  Miriam  gently  shook  off;  for 
what  need  had  she  for  sympathy? 

Murgatroyd  returned  to  his  place  in  front  of  the 
jury  rail,  and  briefly  reviewed  the  evidence. 

Then  with  great  emotion  in  his  voice  he  went  on : — 

"And  what  part,  gentlemen,  did  the  wife  have  in  all 
this?  His  wife,  who  sat  through  the  weary  hours  of 
the  night  waiting  for  the  thing  she  loved,  while  her 
husband  not  only  lavished  his  affections  but  her  money 
on  others — his  friends.  His  friends!  Had  he  friends? 
If  so,  where  are  they?  No,  long  ago  he  turned  his 
back  on  his  real  friends ;  they  were  in  the  light ;  he 
sought  the  darkness." 

As  the  prosecutor  went  on  with  his  merciless  flaying^ 
Challoner  grew  hot  and  cold  by  turns. 

"...  Gentlemen,  behold  the  result  of  riotous 
living!"  he  declared,  pointing  his  finger  at  the  pris 
oner.  "The  pace  that  kills !  .  .  . 

"And  so,  in  view  of  these  facts,  in  view  of  the  pris 
oner's  private  history,  I  tell  you  that  the  defence  here 
is  absurd,  ridiculous.  Gentlemen,  on  behalf  of  the 
people,  in  the  name  of  justice,  I  ask  you  to  convict 
this  man." 

For  an  instant  he  stood  eyeing  the  twelve  jurors. 
Then,  raising  his  right  hand  solemnly  he  brought  it 
down  with  full  sudden  force  upon  the  railing  between 
himself  and  them. 


158  THE  RED  MOUSE 

"And  let  me  warn  you,  gentlemen  of  the  jury,"  he 
continued  ominously,  "that  the  honour,  the  integrity 
of  this  metropolis  hangs  in  the  balance.  If  you  ac 
quit  this  defendant  and  set  him  free,  the  people  of  this 
State,  the  people  of  the  country,  will  say  henceforth 
that  all  that  a  murderer  need  have  to  secure  an  acquit 
tal — his  freedom,  is  money,  money,  money." 

As  the  prosecutor  seated  himself,  there  was  a  gasp 
of  relief  from  the  people  in  the  court-room.  Brod- 
erick  ventured  inside  of  the  railed  space  set  aside  for 
counsel  and  shook  hands  with  Thome. 

"Counsellor,"  he  said,  "you  certainly  handled  that 
trial  like  a  veteran.  You  saw  your  duty  and  you  did 
it." 

Thome  nodded  his  thanks,  and  answered: — 

"I  held  Murgatroyd  down  to  the  woman  in  the  case, 
all  right.  He  had  to  stick  to  that  one  motive.  This 
verdict  will  let  everybody  out " 

"But  Challoner,"  added  Broderick. 

"Everybody  but  Challoner,"  agreed  Thorne;  "and 
the  incident  will  be  closed." 

Broderick,  with  a  certain  self-satisfied  air,  went 
on: — 

"When  you  were  talking,  I  put  up  ten  dollars  with  a 
chap  back  there  in  the  court-room  that  Challoner  'd 
go  free." 

"Not  in  a  thousand  years !"  declared  Thorne,  flatly. 


THE  RED  MOUSE  159 

"I'm  afraid  you're  right,"  said  Broderick,  and  added 
with  a  twinkle  in  his  eye:  "I  hate  to  lose  that  ten. 
Still  if  I  do  lose  it,  it'll  be  tougher  for  Challoner  and 
her — "  he  jerked  his  head  toward  Mrs.  Challoner  at 
the  other  end  of  the  table — "than  it  will  be  for  me. 
Oh,  well,  such  is  life !  The  world  is  full  of  the  wives 
of  criminals,  and  they  all  marry  again  and  have  chil 
dren  and  live  happily  ever  after." 

Once  more,  he  glanced  in  the  direction  of  Miriam 
Challoner,  and  presently  commented  in  a  low  voice : — 

"There's  a  plucky  little  woman,  Thorne ;  nothin'  can 
feaze  her.  I've  been  watchin'  her;  and  she's  just  as 
sure  of  that  jury  as  I  am  of  my  own  assembly  district 
after  it  has  gone  through  my  trousers  pockets  the 
night  before  election."  And  clapping  Thorne  on  the 
shoulder  familiarly,  he  took  his  departure,  saying: — • 

"I'll  be  back  to  hear  the  verdict." 

*•#**# 

It  was  nearly  two  o'clock.  The  Court  had 
charged  the  jury;  the  jury  had  filed  out;  they  were 
still  locked  up  in  the  jury-room.  The  crowd  had  left 
the  court-room,  Challoner  had  been  taken  down-stairs, 
Pemmican  had  been  housed  in  jail  under  the  gambling 
warrants ;  only  Thorne,  Miriam  and  Shirley  remained. 

"Wasn't  that  a  terrible  arraignment  of  Prosecutor 
Murgatroyd!"  exclaimed  Shirley.  "When  he  faced 
Laurie  and  told  him  what  he  thought  of  him — it  was 


160  THE  RED  MOUSE    » 

simply  awful !"  and  the  girl  covered  her  face  with  her 
hands  as  if  to  shut  out  the  sight  of  it  all. 

"Why,  Shirley,"  said  Miriam  quietly,  "it's  a  prose 
cutor's  business  to  say  these  things  about  a  prisoner. 
It's  all  in  a  day's  work,  isn't  it,  Mr.  Thorne?"  And 
she  smiled  faintly. 

Thorne  was  about  to  speak  when  a  uniformed  at 
tendant  suddenly  entered  at  one  door  and  swung 
across  the  court-room  to  another.  In  passing,  he 
called  to  Thorne: — 

"The  jury  has  agreed!"  He  disappeared  in  the  di 
rection  of  the  prosecutor's  private  office. 

A  moment  later  another  court-officer  strode  toward 
the  judge's  private  chambers,  and  likewise  announced 
in  passing: — 

"The  jury  's  coming  in!" 

Thorne  looked  cheerful,  by  way  of  encouragement 
to  the  women.  Shirley  blanched,  her  lips  whitened,  she 
trembled  from  head  to  foot ;  but  Thorne  noted  that 
Miriam's  eyes  only  grew  brighter;  she  concealed  her 
agitation  well. 

"It  will  all  be  over  in  a  minute  now,"  Miriam  ex 
claimed  joyfully,  "and  he'll  be  free,  free !" 

Without,  within,  everywhere  was  bustle,  expectation. 
The  crowd  filed  back  into  the  court-room;  Murga- 
troyd  came  in  from  his  private  office ;  the  Court  took 
its  seat  upon  the  bench;  and  then  just  as  Broderick 


THE  RED  MOUSE 

waddled  in,  the  barred  door  in  the  far  corner  opened, 
and  Challoner,  as  though  in  a  daze,  walked  down 
the  aisle,  an  officer  in  front  and  one  behind  him. 
The  clerk  glanced  about  him  to  see  that  all  was 
in  readiness,  and  then  nodding  to  an  officer,  he 
said : — 

"Bring  'em  in!" 

A  minute  that  seemed  minutes  elapsed,  and  then  the" 
jury  filed  in — a  jury  whose  faces,  whose  demeanour 
told  nothing,  gave  no  sign.  Then  there  was  an  inter 
val  of  silence,  and  in  that  interval  a  cutting  pang 
seized  upon  the  soul  of  every  human  present — the 
agony  of  suspense,  the  travail  that  precedes  the  birth 
of  a  verdict. 

"Gentlemen  of  the  jury,"  said  the  clerk  rapidly, 
"have  you  agreed  upon  your  verdict?" 

"We  have,"  came  in  chorus. 

"Who  do  you  say  shall  answer  for  you?" 

The  eleven  men  pointed  toward  their  foreman. 

"Gentlemen  of  the  jury,"  said  the  clerk,  "look 
upon  the  prisoner;  prisoner,  look  upon  the  jury. 
Gentlemen  of  the  jury,  how  do  you  say  you  find — 
guilty  or  not  guilty  ?" 

The  foreman  glanced  upon  the  piece  of  paper  which 
he  held  in  his  left  hand  and  gripped  the  rail  before 
him  with  his  right. 

"Guilty,"  he  replied. 


162  THE  RED  MOUSE 

"What's  that?"  exclaimed  Graham  Thorne  in  af 
fected  astonishment. 

"What?"  came  from  Miriam  Challoner  shrilly;  and 
the  next  moment  all  the  colour  had  left  her  face ;  she 
was  pale  as  death. 

"Guilty,  your  Honour,"  repeated  the  foreman  in  a 
louder  tone. 

"Guilty  of  what?"  queried  the  Court  impatiently. 

"Of  murder  in  the  first  degree,"  answered  the  jury 
as  one  man. 

"Gentlemen  of  the  jury,  your  verdict  is  guilty  of 
murder  in  the  first  degree,  and  so  say  all  of  you?" 
reeled  off  the  clerk,  looking  at  his  minutes. 

They  nodded. 

"You  are  discharged,  gentlemen,  with  the  thanks  of 
the  Court,"  announced  the  Court  with  approval.  "Be- 
here  to-morrow  morning  at  ten  o'clock." 

Meanwhile  Challoner  sat  sullen,  desperate,  his  chin 
resting  on  his  hand,  glaring  into  space.  Around  him 
was  confusion,  expostulation.  The  spectators  were 
pressing  forward  toward  the  rail  to  get  another  look 
at  the  accused,  while  the  jury  was  passing  out.  All 
of  a  sudden  the  sound  of  buzzing  whispers  died  down 
and  was  followed  in  a  moment  by  an  intenser  silence. 
There  was  a  stir  among  those  in  the  front  seats,  and 
the  judge,  looking  up,  was  surprised  to  see  that  it  was 
caused  by  the  defendant's  wife,  who  had  moved  from 


THE  RED  MOUSE 

her  place  and  was  making  her  way  to  the  prosecutor's 
desk,  determination  standing  out  on  her  countenance. 
Immediately  all  eyes  were  fixed  on  her,  as  she  placed 
her  hand  upon  Murgatroyd's  arm,  and  looking  him 
full  in  the  face,  exclaimed  hysterically : — 

"They  found  him  guilty — guilty,  do  you  under 
stand?  What  have  you  got  to  say?" 

Murgatroyd  looked  at  her,  but  he  did  not  answer* 
Her  grasp  became  a  clutch  as  she  repeated: — 

"What  have  you  got  to  say  to  me  ?     Speak !" 

Murgatroyd  was  imperturbable. 

Miriam,  aghast  at  his  coolness,  stared  at  him;  then 
she  began  again : — 

"You — you — "  Her  voice  failed  her,  and  relaxing 
her  grasp,  she  clung  to  the  table  for  support.  Shirley 
ran  to  her,  held  her,  saying  gently : — 

"Miriam,  dear,  you  are  beside  yourself — come,  come 
away !" 

But  Miriam  braced  herself  and  resolutely  shook  her 
self  free  from  her  friend. 

"No,"  she  replied  evenly,  "I  am  not  going!"  and 
her  voice  rose  as  she  went  on :  "Don't  let  anybody  go ! 
What  I  have  to  say  I  want  all  of  you  to  hear !"  And 
tottering  over  toward  the  bench  as  the  spectators 
pressed  tumultuously  forward,  Peter  Broderick  among; 
the  rest,  she  exclaimed : — 

"Your  Honour !    Your  Honour !" 


164.  THE  RED  MOUSE 

"What  is  it,  Madam?"  asked  the  justice.  And  con 
sidering  that  the  Court  believed  that  it  had  to  deal 
-with  a  case  of  hysteria,  the  voice  was  surprisingly  lit 
tle  tinged  with  irritability ;  but  then  the  learned  judge 
felt  that  he  must  make  some  concession  to  a  woman  of 
.Mrs.  Challoner's  high  social  standing ;  and  therefore 
Jhe  added  politely:  "You  must  be  brief." 

"I  shall  be  brief/'  answered  Mrs.  Challoner,  sending 
an  accusing  glance  toward  the  prosecutor.  "I  desire 
to  make  a  charge  against  Mr.  Murgatroyd,  the  prose 
cutor  of  the  pleas !"  She  was  well  contained,  but  her 
tone  was  harsh,  cutting. 

The  Court  glanced  sympathetically  at  her,  and  then 
smiled  gently,  indulgently  in  the  direction  of  the 
prosecutor. 

"I  accuse  him  of  bribery !"  she  went  on.  "He 
promised  to  set  my  husband  free !" 

Shirley  Bloodgood  clutched  her  once  more,  pleading 
with  her  to  stop. 

"Miriam,  what  are  you  saying?  You  must  stop 
this  ..." 

"Bribery?"  asked  the  justice,  somewhat  startled. 
"Bribery?" 

For  an  instant  there  was  a  subdued  uproar.  Graham 
Thorne  pressed  forward  toward  the  Court ;  Broderick 
from  the  crowd  behind  pushed  his  way  into  the  en 
closure;  reporters  thrust  their  pads  and  pencils  into 


THE  RED  MOUSE  165 

the  scene ;  spectators  stirred,  became  noisy ;  but  Mur- 
gatroyd  never  moved. 

"Let  Mrs.  Challoner  go  on,"  demanded  Thorne. 

The  Court  rapped  loudly  with  his  gavel;  the  crowd 
slumped  into  silence. 

"Clear  this  court-room!"  ordered  the  justice,  stand 
ing  up  until  his  command  was  obeyed. 

The  process  took  five  minutes.  At  the  end  of  that 
period  none  was  left  within  the  room  except  the  officers 
and  those  within  the  rail,  which  included  Broderick. 
No  court-officer  who  valued  his  position  dared  to  dis 
turb  Broderick. 

"Now  close  the  doors !"  ordered  the  justice. 

That  took  an  instant  more.  At  last,  the  Court 
said : — 

"Now,  Mrs.  Challoner   ..." 

Miriam's  Challoner's  eyes  flashed  fire. 

"I  want  everybody  here,"  she  cried,  "to  know  and  un 
derstand  what  this  man  has  done!  He  arrested  my 
husband,"  she  went  on,  her  face  still  turned  toward 
Murgatroyd,  her  eyes  holding  his  glance;  "I  begged 
of  him  to  set  him  free — he  refused.  He  told  me  he 
could  do  nothing  for  me — could  do  nothing  but  his 
duty.  I  couldn't  move  him;  he  wouldn't  budge  an 
inch  until  finally  I  offered  him  money." 

She  paused.  Peter  Broderick  moved  a  few  steps 
nearer,  gnawing  his  finger-nails;  Thorne  watched 


166  THE  RED  MOUSE 

Murgatroyd  closely;  but  Murgatroyd  was  unmoved. 
He  returned  Miriam's  glance  with  interest ;  he  gave  no 
sign. 

"...  until  I  offered  money,"  she  repeated.  "I 
offered  him  one  hundred  thousand  dollars ;  he  refused 
to  take  it." 

"Naturally,"  interposed  the  Court. 

"He  refused  to  take  it,"  went  on  Miriam,  irritated  by 
the  interruption,  "because  he  knew  there  was  more.  He 
demanded  eight  hundred  and  sixty  thousand  dollars — 
all  I  had, — to  set  my  husband  free!  He  took  it  and 
agreed  to  set  him  free.  And  now,"  she  concluded,  ad 
vancing  toward  Murgatroyd  as  though  with  a  threat 
upon  her  tongue,  "see  how  he  has  kept  his  word !" 

"It  can't  be  true,"  Shirley  Bloodgood  was  heard  to 
say,  half  aloud. 

Broderick  crept  up  close  to  Thorne  and  nudged  him. 
The  latter  interpreted  correctly  the  action. 

"Let  Mrs.  Challoner  go  on,"  suggested  Thorne ;  and 
the  Court  ordered  Mrs.  Challoner  to  proceed. 

"That's  all,"  said  Miriam,  quite  close  to  the  prose 
cutor  now,  "except  what  I  have  to  say  to  Mr.  Murga 
troyd." 

And  now  as  she  stood  before  him,  her  eyes  glistening, 
her  breast  heaving,  remembering  only  that  she  was  a 
woman  robbed  of  her  mate,  she  cried : — 

"I  am  going  to  make  you  suffer  for  this  as  you  made 


THE  RED  MOUSE  167 

him  suffer  in  this  court-room,"  and  she  waved  her  hand 
toward  Challoner.  "I'll  invoke  every  law  against 
you,"  she  went  on,  "and  if  the  law  can't  help  me,  I'll 
spend  my  life  to  make  you  pay  for  this.  You  made 
an  agreement  with  me  and  you  must  keep  it,  or  I  will 
.  .  .  "  Suddenly  she  sank  exhausted  into  the  chair 
next  to  Challoner  and  buried  her  face  upon  the  pris 
oner's  shoulder. 

"Laurie,  Laurie,"  she  sobbed  in  her  despair.  For  the 
first  time  Challoner  showed  some  feeling ;  he  found  her 
hand  and  patted  it  with  affection  for  a  moment. 

The  justice  shook  his  head.  Presently  he  said  incred 
ulously  : — 

"Mrs.  Challoner,  this  is  a  terrible  charge  to  make." 

She  sprang  up  but  immediately  sank  back  again. 

"It's  true,  it's  true,"  she  wailed. 

Shirley  turned  to  Thome  and  said  feelingly : — 

"The  trial  has  been  too  much  for  her.  She's  over 
wrought." 

Broderick,  who  overheard  the  remark,  grinned  sar 
donically.  Turning  to  Thome,  he  remarked: — 

"I'm  an  expert  in  these  matters.  It's  got  all  the  ear 
marks  of  the  real  thing.  Murgatroyd  did  well."  And 
then,  as  one  who  enjoyed  all  the  privileges  of  the 
court-room,  he  advanced  close  to  the  bench,  and  shad 
ing  his  mouth,  while  he  spoke,  suggested  genially: — 

"Your  Honour,  get  out  the  Penal  Code." 


168  THE  RED  MOUSE 

But  the  Court  merely  beckoned  to  Thorne  and  sug 
gested  that  he  take  charge  of  his  client ;  that  the  strain 
had  been  too  much  for  her.  And  much  as  Thorne 
wanted  to  believe  her  story,  he  felt  as  the  Court  felt : 
that  the  tale  was  little  short  of  preposterous. 

"But — it's  true,"  Miriam  persisted  to  her  counsel, 
"incredible  as  it  may  seem." 

Thorne  eyed  her  steadily  for  a  few  moments.  At 
last,  he  said: — 

"At  any  rate,  it  may  have  some  effect  upon  the  ver 
dict."  And  then  addressing  himself  to  the  bench,  he 
exclaimed :  "Your  Honour,  Mrs.  Challoner  assures  me 
that  this  charge  is  absolutely  true."  And  finally  turn 
ing  to  Murgatroyd:  "I  should  like  to  hear  from 
Prosecutor  Murgatroyd  as  to  the  truth  or  falsity  of 
this?" 

As  the  two  men  faced  each  other,  Shirley  once  more 
touched  Miriam's  arm,  and  said  affectionately: — 

"Miriam,  do  you  realise  all  that  you  are  saying? — 
Look  into  my  eyes,  dear,  and  tell  me  candidly  is  it 
true?  ..." 

"Before  God,  I  swear  it."  And  a  moment  later  she 
added :  "And  he  never  kept  his  word." 

"Well,  Mr.  Prosecutor,  what  have  you  got  to  say?" 
asked  the  Court,  a  trifle  apologetically. 

During  the  pause  that  immediately  ensued,  Miriam 
Challoner  wondered  what  Murgatroyd  would  say ; 


THE  RED  MOUSE  169 

what  he  could  say ;  what  was  left  for  him  to  say.  The 
prosecutor  stood  in  the  centre  of  an  open  space,  and 
looking  first  at  Miriam,  then  at  Thorne,  and  finally 
at  the  Court,  he  answered  gravely : — 

"Your  Honour,  I  have  heard  the  charge.  I  don't  see 
that  it  behooves  me  to  answer  it  at  this  time,  nor  in 
deed,"  bowing  toward  the  Court,  "before  this  tribunal. 
If  it  be  a  charge  made  in  earnest — as  it  seems  to  be 
— then  the  only  question  that  can  possibly  interest  this 
Court,  is  whether  I  have  done  my  duty  toward  the 
people  of  the  State.  The  charge  assumes  the  propor 
tions  of  a  bribe  to  free  a  guilty  man.  My  answer  is, 
I  have  convicted  Challoner.  If  there  was  a  bribe,  it 
was  a  bribe  that  didn't  work." 

The  Court  stared  with  the  rest.  Peter  Broderick 
gazed  at  Murgatroyd  in  open-mouthed  admiration; 
even  Miriam  felt  baffled  unaccountably. 

"Mr.  Thorne,"  said  the  Court,  "if  this  charge  be 
made  in  good  faith,  and  even  assuming  it  to  be  liter 
ally  true,  isn't  the  prosecutor  right?  It  cannot  be 
that  this  charge  is  true ;  but  if  Mrs.  Challoner  claims 
it  to  be  true,  if  you  believe  it  to  be  true,  her  remedy, 
then,  is  to  go  to  the  Grand  Jury  and  indict,  to  the 
legislature  and  impeach."  He  paused  judicially,  and 
added:  "The  fullest  refutation,  after  all,  is  that  the 
prosecutor  did  convict." 

Thorne  considered  for  an  instant. 


170  THE  RED  MOUSE 

"I  agree  entirely  with  your  Honour,"  he  assented, 
bowing. 

"The  incident  is  closed,"  went  on  the  Court,  rising. 
"You  have  your  remedy —  Good  afternoon !"  And  he 
left  the  court-room. 

And  still  Murgatroyd  stood  his  ground  while  the 
others  stood  aloof.  Presently  two  officers  seized  Chal- 
loner  and  disappeared  with  him  through  the  barred 
door.  Graham  Thorne  then  approached  the  prose 
cutor  and  exclaimed : — 

"Prosecutor,  we  have  wondered  all  along  just  what 
your  price  might  be.  Now  we  know." 

"The  last  dollar  that  a  woman  has,"  sneered  Peter 
Broderick. 

And  still  Murgatroyd  gave  no  sign.  It  was  only 
when  Shirley  Bloodgood  approached  him  and  he  heard 
the  tremor  in  her  voice  that  the  man  trembled  imper 
ceptibly. 

"Mr.  Murgatroyd,"  she  declared,  "I  am  forced  to  be 
lieve  all  that  Miriam  has  said.  Oh,  Billy,  Billy,  it  is 
inconceivable  that  you  are  the  man  that  I  have  re 
spected  all  these  years !  You  have  lost  the  one  thing 
I  admired  most  in  you."  Her  voice  broke,  and  turn 
ing  to  Miriam,  she  cried:  "Come,  Miriam,  dear,  we're 
going  home." 

Mrs.  Challoner  touched  Thorne  upon  the  arm,  and 
said  with  a  final  look  at  Murgatroyd : — 


THE  RED  MOUSE  171 

"I  want  you  to  take  every  legal  measure  to  indict,  to 
impeach  this  man,  and  I  want  you  to  begin  at  once." 

After  all  had  gone,  Murgatroyd  remained  for  some 
time  where  they  had  left  him,  imperturbable,  inscru 
table,  gazing  doggedly  into  space. 


XI 

*'I  CAME  here  again,  thinking  perhaps  you  might  wish 
to  explain  your  action."  The  words  came  from  Mrs. 
Challoner,  who,  unattended,  had  found  her  way  into 
the  prosecutor's  office. 

Murgatroyd  quickly  laid  down  his  cigar.  Doubtless 
he  was  annoyed,  but  in  spite  of  himself  he  could  not 
help  admiring  the  pluck  which  she  showed  in  coming 
directly  to  him ;  and  as  he  came  forward  to  meet  her,  he 
saw  that  it  was  with  difficulty  that  she  kept  on  her  feet. 
For  a  moment  they  faced  each  other  in  silence,  yet  in 
the  eyes  of  each  there  was  a  look  of  fearful  misun 
derstanding.  Again  the  woman  spoke. 

"What  have  you  to  say  to  me?" 

Murgatroyd  frowned,  his  bearing  slipped  off  some  of 
its  deference  when  he  retorted  in  a  voice  full  of  emo 
tion  : — 

"What  have  you  to  say  to  me?   ..." 

The  prosecutor's  perfect  self-possession  and  earnest 
ness  unnerved  her  for  an  instant. 

"I — "  she  faltered  and  stopped  before  his  scornful 
glance. 

"Yes,  you,  Mrs.  Challoner.  Do  you  recall  our  com 
pact?  Your  silence  was  the  essence  of  it.  Why  did 
you  break  it?" 


THE  RED  MOUSE 

Miriam  Challoner  checked  a  wild  desire  to  laugh 
hysterically. 

"But  you  broke  it  first !" 

Murgatroyd  smiled. 

"How?" 

The  woman  looked  steadily  at  him. 

"By  this  conviction !" 

"What  was  our  compact?"  he  asked  sternly. 

Miriam's  courage  was  returning ;  it  was  with  an  in 
dignant  tone  that  she  replied: — 

"That  you  should  set  my  husband  free !" 

Murgatroyd  tapped  the  table  with  his  hand. 

"And  have  I  failed  as  yet?" 

"Yes,"  she  answered  fiercely.  "You  have  convicted 
him." 

Murgatroyd  drew  his  head  slightly  to  one  side; 
pursed  up  his  lips ;  drew  his  brows  together ;  and  nar 
rowed  his  eyes  before  he  spoke: — 

"Did  you  assume  for  an  instant,  Mrs.  Challoner,  that 
I  was  such  a  bungler  as  to  release  your  husband  at  the 
first  trial — for  all  the  world  to  know — to  suspect? 
When  I  said  to  you  that  I  would  set  your  husband 
free,  did  I  say — when?" 

Of  the  scene  that  followed  Miriam  Challoner  never 
retained  a  very  clear  impression.  She  remembered  that 
at  first,  as  if  in  a  trance,  she  kept  repeating  his  last 
word,  while  by  degrees  its  meaning  stole  in  upon  her ; 


174  THE  RED  MOUSE 

then  of  a  sensation  of  being  about  to  faint  through 
mere  excess  of  joy.  Suddenly  the  thought  of  her 
temerity  flashed  through  her  brain — the  enormity  of 
the  thing  she  had  done;  and  she  would  have  gone  on 
her  knees  at  his  feet  had  he  not  caught  her  in  time. 
Quickly  recovering,  she  looked  up  at  him.  Somehow 
his  face  seemed  to  hold  little  resentment  now — too  lit 
tle,  in  fact,  to  suit  her  surprising  desire  to  humble  her 
self  in  his  sight. 

"After  all,  she's  rather  a  fool  of  a  woman,"  his  ex 
pression  had  plainly  said  to  her  overwrought  senses, 
"and  I  will  spare  her."  And  yet  she  craved  so  to  hear 
words  of  pardon  from  his  lips,  that  she  broke  out  al 
most  breathlessly: — 

"You  will  forgive  me — you  must  ...  I  have 
done  you  an  unutterable  injury,  I  know."  She 
stopped,  and  then  with  a  sudden  lapse  to  her  old  air 
of  fear:  "Oh,  but  what  will  happen  now — what  will 
happen  to  Laurie  ?  I  have  failed  you ;  you  have  the 
right  to  ..." 

Once  more  cold  and  indifferent,  Murgatroyd  looked 
out  of  the  window,  though  he  interrupted  her  last 
words  by  saying  frigidly : — 

"When  I  make  agreements,  Mrs.  Challoner,  I  keep 
them.  You  may  be  sure  that  I  shall  keep  this 
one." 

Still  awed  in  a  measure  by  his  masterful  personality, 


THE  RED  MOUSE  175 

but  with  joy  in  her  heart,  Miriam  Challoner  started 
to  leave  the  office. 

With  a  gesture  Murgatroyd  checked  her 
quickly. 

"Mrs.  Challoner,"  he  said  with  reproof  still  linger 
ing  in  his  voice,  "there  is  no  necessity  henceforth  for 
personal  interviews.  In  the  future  if  you  have  any 
thing  to  say  to  me,  kindly  let  it  come  through  your 
counsel,  Mr.  Thorne.  It  is  much  better  so — much 
safer.  I  prefer  to  deal  with  him  only." 

Miriam  bowed  acquiescence. 

Directly  on  leaving  him  Miriam  Challoner  went  to 
Thome's  office.  It  was  in  accordance  with  her  promise 
to  aid  him  in  formulating  the  charges  which  he  was 
preparing  against  the  prosecutor  on  her  behalf. 
These  charges  were  for  the  legislature  and  the 
Grand  Jury:  on  the  one  hand,  impeachment;  on  the 
other,  indictment.  Now  whether  the  accusation  had 
been  true  or  false  mattered  little  to  Thorne.  On  the 
whole,  perhaps,  he  was  inclined  to  disbelief ;  but  Brod- 
erick,  his  colleague  in  the  organisation,  was  by  no 
means  of  that  opinion.  In  any  event,  since  it  came 
from  such  an  authoritative  source — the  lips  of  Mrs. 
Challoner — it  was  a  charge  that  possessed  merit,  in 
asmuch  as  it  would  injure  Murgatroyd — and  Thorne 
was  not  slow  to  recognise  that.  In  consequence,  then, 
there  was,  unmistakably,  a  note  of  gratification  in  the 


176  THE  RED  MOUSE 

words  with  which  he  greeted  Mrs.  Challoner  that  af 
ternoon  in  his  office. 

"Here  it  is — in  the  form  of  an  affidavit — just 
what  you  told  me,  Mrs.  Challoner.  Please  read 
it." 

Trembling  slightly  while  searching  her  mind  for 
some  clever  way  in  which  she  might  express  her  change 
of  plan,  Miriam  Challoner  slowly  read  the  document. 
Nothing  was  left  out,  nothing  exaggerated,  and  with 
out  a  word  she  returned  it. 

"Will  you  sign  here,  please?" 

There  was  no  time  to  arrange  any  idea  she  may  have 
had  for  new  tactics:  it  was  Thome's  voice  that  was 
insisting;  it  was  Thorne  who  was  holding  a  pen  for 
her  and  indicating  the  correct  place  for  her  signature. 
And  with  a  violent  effort,  Mrs.  Challoner  braced  her 
self  for  the  first  lie  in  her  life. 

"It's  not  true.    I  cannot  sign  it." 

Thorne  started  back.  Instantly  he  was  spluttering 
his  annoyance  at  what  he  considered  merely  a  woman's 
whim. 

"Not  true !  Why  only  a  short  time  ago  you  declared 
it  was  true." 

"So  it  was — but  only  in  a  way,"  she  said  laboriously. 
Her  face  burned  and  paled.  "I  tried  to  bribe  him, 
but " 

"Bribe  him!    How?   .        .   " 


THE  RED  MOUSE  17T 

"With  the  money — the  money  I  had  left,"  she  re 
plied  cautiously. 

"What  have  you  left?"  he  ventured. 

Curiously  enough,  Mrs.  Challoner  found  herself  tak 
ing  a  certain  amount  of  satisfaction  in  telling  her 
lawyer  what  now  was  unquestionably  true. 

"My  home — only." 

"But  that's  mortgaged,  I  understand?"  There  was 
more  than  idle  curiosity  in  the  speaker's  eyes. 

"Yes.  But  there's  an  equity  of  about  twenty  or 
twenty-five  thousand,"  she  explained. 

"And  you  tried  to  bribe  Murgatroyd  with  twenty 
thousand  dollars?" 

There  was  no  answer ;  and  interpreting  her  silence  as. 
assent,  he  went  on  persistently: — 

"And  he  refused?" 

Miriam  was  very  white  now. 

"He  did." 

"I  should  think  so,"  returned  Thorne.  "Two  hun 
dred  and  fifty  would  be  more  like  Murgatroyd's  price 
— if  he  can  be  bought." 

"No,  he  cannot  be  bought,"  Miriam  ventured  with 
perhaps  a  trifle  more  confidence  in  her  tone  than  Mr. 
Thorne  liked ;  and  then  she  added,  in  a  changed  voice : 
"I  want  you,  please,  to  retract  this  story.  I  want  to- 
take  it  all  back.  I  was  unstrung,  I " 

"I  will  retract  nothing,"  he  cut  in  rudely.     "Not  a 


178  THE  RED  MOUSE 

thing.  Leave  it  as  it  is.  If  you  begin  to  retract 
you'll  get  yourself  in  trouble.  If  Murgatroyd  de 
sires  to  make  a  move,  let  him  .  .  .  ' 

And  with  a  promise  to  that  effect,  a  hurried  acknowl 
edgment  with  an  inclination  of  the  head  that  she  ac 
cepted  his  words  as  ending  her  interview,  she  left  the 
office,  leaving  him  far  from  certain  that  Peter  Brod- 
erick's  appraisement  of  Murgatroyd's  character  was 
not  a  correct  one. 

That  night  when  the  papers  came  out,  people  read 
them  in  anger  and  dismay ;  by  the  next  morning  they 
merely  laughed;  likewise  the  Court. 

"If  he  were  bribed,"  said  public  comment,  "it  was  a 
bribe  that  didn't  work." 

And  Murgatroyd,  submitting  to  interview  after  in 
terview,  reiterated  over  and  over  again  to  the  re 
porters  : — 

"I  point  with  pride,  gentlemen,  to  the  conviction  of 
Lawrence  Challoner.  That's  all  I  have  to  say." 

The  fiasco  had  helped  Murgatroyd  infinitely  more 
than  it  had  hurt  him,  Thome  felt  in  his  inmost  soul. 
For  once  the  masses  refused  to  believe  what  on  its  face 

appeared  to  be  true. 

***** 

One  evening  a  few  weeks  later,  while  Murgatroyd 
was  dressing  to  dine  at  his  club,  as  was  his  custom 
nearly  every  night,  his  servant  handed  him  a  note 


THE  RED  MOUSE 

which  the  bearer  had  said  was  to  be  delivered  immedi 
ately.  It  was  but  seldom  that  a  square  white  envelope 
came  at  this  time,  and  with  a  pardonable  look  of  sur 
prise  and  curiosity  on  his  face  Murgatroyd  opened  it 
and  read: 


night? 


"I  must  see  you.     Will  you  come  to  the  house  to- 

"S.  H.  B." 


An  hour  more,  and  he  was  in  Mrs.  Bloodgood's 
drawing-room,  waiting  more  nervously  than  he  would 
have  cared  to  acknowledge  to  himself  for  the  daughter 
of  the  house  to  appear.  It  was  the  first  time  that  she 
had  ever  sent  for  him  to  go  to  her,  and  he  was  con 
scious  of  some  degree  of  anxiety  as  to  her  motive* 
Clever  lawyer  though  he  was,  he  dreaded  her  cate 
chising,  particularly  so,  because  he  knew  that  whether 
she  acknowledged  it  to  herself  or  not,  that  it  was  at 
her  instigation  that  he  had  adopted  the  role  which, 
with  or  without  her  approval,  he  was  now  determined 
to  play  through  to  the  end.  The  sound  of  a  light  step 
on  the  threshold  of  the  room  checked  his  disturbing 
speculations,  and  he  looked  up  to  see  Shirley  Blood- 
good  entering  the  room.  As  usual  she  did  not  permit 
him  to  open  the  conversation  after  the  preliminary 
courtesies  of  greeting  between  them. 

"Something  very  urgent  made  me  send  for  you,  Mr^ 


180  THE  RED  MOUSE 

Murgatroyd,"  she  began,  but  her  lips  trembled  so  that 
she  stopped  abruptly  after  adding:  "I  want  to  talk 
with  you." 

An  instinct  told  Murgatroyd  that  it  would  be  a 
grievous  mistake  not  to  accept  without  a  protesting 
word  the  note  of  aloofness,  the  desire  to  avoid  any 
suggestion  of  former  intimacy  that  was  in  her  tone. 
Rightly  he  told  himself  that  the  slightest  advances  on 
his  part  would  result  in  adding  to  her  distress ;  that 
however  much  he  would  like  to  break  down  the  barrier 
that  had  arisen  between  them,  he  must  bide  his  time 
and  trust  to  her  emotional  nature  to  accomplish  that. 
And  he  was  not  mistaken,  for  presently  an  impulse  to 
speak  her  mind  at  any  cost  took  possession  of  her,  and 
she  burst  forth : — 

"Billy,  why  did  you  take  this  money  ?    Why  ?  .  .   .  " 

Carried  away  by  the  tender  accents  with  which  she 
pronounced  his  name,  Murgatroyd  essayed  to  speak, 
but  she  interrupted  him. 

"Don't" — covering  her  ears  with  her  hands — "don't 
tell  me !  I  know  you  did  it — because  I — I — oh,  why 
did  you  listen  to  me!  I  thought  I  knew  what  I  was 
talking  about,"  she  went  on,  while  he  sought  control 
of  himself  by  looking  away  from  her;  "but  I  knew 
nothing  of  conditions ;  of  men.  I  thought  that  a  man 
— that  you  could  accomplish  anything  you  really 
wanted  to  do.  But  you  were  right.  There  are  impos- 


THE  RED  MOUSE  181 

sibilities.  I  understand  now — now  that  it's  too  late. 
I  have  had  my  lesson.  Only  a  few  months  ago  you  were 
honest,  and  now  you  are  corrupt,  and  I  alone  am  re 
sponsible  !" 

By  the  time  she  had  finished  speaking  Murgatroyd 
had  become  as  imperturbable  as  he  had  been  at  the 
trial,  and  there  was  only  a  hint  of  tenderness  in  the 
reassuring  words  that  he  now  uttered. 

"You  must  not  blame  yourself — "  he  was  neither  ad 
mitting  nor  denying  the  impeachment — "for  anything 
I  may  have  done." 

"But  I  do,  I  do,"  she  cried  bitterly.  "And  you  must 
blame  me.  I  always  thought  Adam  was  a  coward  to 
cast  the  blame  on  Eve.  But  now  my  sympathies  are 
with  him — the  woman  was  to  blame  then — I  am  to 
blame  now.  I  gave  you  of  the  apple,  and  you —  Oh, 
there  would  have  been  no  apple — nothing  but  Eden  if 
I  had  only  listened  to  you  and  you  had  closed  your 
ears  to  me." 

"Eden,"  he  said  wistfully.  "Yes,  but  hardly  the 
Eden  you  cared  for." 

Abruptly  her  mood  changed.  She  lost  all  semblance 
of  calm,  and  her  voice  rang  with  a  scorn  that,  before 
she  ceased,  seemed  to  include  him  as  well  as  herself. 

"What  do  I  care  for  success  or  failure !  I  could  cut 
my  tongue  out  for  telling  you  that  my  father  was  a 
failure.  A  failure !  Why,  I  know  that  not  only  was 


182  THE  RED  MOUSE 

he  not  a  failure,  but  that  he  was  really  great !  A  man 
in  the  highest  sense  of  the  word — and  that's  all  I  want 
you  to  be.  I  don't  care  an  iota  that  you  should  be  a 
senator — I  don't  want  you  to  be  a  senator.  I  have 
sent  for  you  to-night  to  tell  you  so — to  stop  for  good 
and  all  the  thing  I  set  in  motion."  She  was  silent  for 
an  instant;  and  then  suddenly  with  a  quick  return  to 
gentleness,  and  with  appeal  in  her  eyes,  she  murmured : 
"I  want  you  to  come  back — come  back." 

In  turn  he  murmured  words  that  sounded  to  her  like 
"to  you." 

Shirley  shook  her  head  as  though  that  were  a  thing 
out  of  the  question. 

"No,  to  your  honest  self,"  she  said  earnestly  but 
kindly.  "To  the  Billy  Murgatroyd  that  was." 

For  a  moment  they  looked  steadily  into  each  other's 
eyes.  From  the  time  of  Miriam's  exposure  of  him  in 
the  court-room  there  had  never  been  any  admission, 
any  concession  on  Murgatroyd's  part.  Nor  was  there 
any  now;  but  unknown  to  himself,  there  was  an  air 
of  appeal,  not  wholly  free  from  anxiety  even,  for  her 
face  was  again  showing  signs  of  hardness  as  he 
spoke : — 

"I  can  hardly  do  that.  I  cannot  stop.  And  if  I 
should — where  is  the  inducement?  You  have  no  apple 
to  offer  me ;  you  are  beyond  my  reach." 

And  as  if  to  disprove  his  own  words,  an  impulse  of 


THE  RED  MOUSE 

adoration,  too  powerful  to  be  checked,  seized  him,  and 
he  caught  her  hand  and  pressed  it. 

A  brief  moment  only  Shirley  allowed  it  to  rest  in  his, 
then  slowly  withdrew  it;  and  her  action  told  him 
plainer  than  words  that  there  was  to  be  nothing 
further  between  them — she  was  through  with  him — she 
must  despise  him.  As  an  evangelist,  as  the  good 
friend  she  had  sent  for  him,  but  as  lovers — no,  that 
was  all  over.  And  yet,  had  she  faltered  once,  had  she- 
but  opened  her  arms  to  him,  if  only  for  the  last  time*. 
Murgatroyd  could  not  tell  what  he  would  have  done,- 
In  all  probability  he  would  have  suffered  exile — sack- 
cloth  and  ashes  for  his  huge  misdeed. 

And  the  girl !  Shirley  felt,  knew  that  there  could  be' 
no  compromise.  Murgatroyd  must  purge  himself, 
even  though  it  involved  a  lifetime  of  shame.  And' 
after  he  had  yielded  up  his  shameless  gains,  what 
then  ?  Shirley  did  not  know — she  could  not  tell.  But 
it  was  not  given  to  Murgatroyd  to  know  that  he  was 
the  subject  of  her  perplexities;  nor  could  he  read,  as 
he  should  have,  any  hope  in  the  words  which  she  now 
spoke : — 

"And  if  I  am  out  of  your  reach — it's  your  own  fault. 
If  you  had  been  half  the  man  I  thought,  you  would 
never  have  listened  to  me.  But  you  never  cared  for 
me,  even  though  you  said  so,"  Shirley  said,  casting 
her  eyes  down,  not  daring  to  look  him  in  the  face. 


184.  THE  RED  MOUSE 

"What  you  did,  you  did  for  yourself  and  not  for  me. 
You  were  weak  from  the  start.  Any  man  who  would 
surrender  his  honesty  even  for  a  woman  is  not  a  man. 
I  see  now  that  I  ought  not  to  have  sent  for  you.  I 
take  back  everything  I  have  said."  She  paused,  and 
then  concluded  with  a  little  shake  of  the  head: — 

"I  wouldn't  marry  you  now  if  you  were  the  last  man 
on  earth!" 

Both  rose  to  their  feet.  Habit,  perhaps,  rather  than 
any  regret  for  her  words,  induced  her  to  dismiss  him 
with  a  tender  expression  on  her  face.  And  Murga- 
troyd  bowed  low  over  the  hand  she  offered  him,  pressed 
it  and  without  a  word  of  protest  went  out  of  the  room. 
With  his  departure  went  out  the  last  glimmer  of  hope 
that  he  would  ever  return  to  his  better  self.  Nothing 
could  stop  him  now.  As  for  Shirley?  The  moment 
the  door  closed  on  him  she  sank  with  a  moan  into  a, 

chair. 

#  #  #  #  # 

Thome  took  an  appeal  from  the  verdict  of  convic 
tion.  He  had  been  careful  to  take  exception  to  each 
bit  of  questionable  evidence. 

"I  think,"  he  assured  Mrs.  Challoner,  "that  I  have 
found  more  than  one  hook  to  hang  a  hat  on.  It  looks 
to  me  like  a  reversal." 

"I  am  sure  it  will  be,"  she  replied. 
Her  assurance  was  the  same  assurance  that  had  sus- 


THE  RED  MOUSE  185 

tained  her  in  the  trial.  There  was  still  that  mysterious 
something  that  Thome  could  not  understand.  She 
seemed  the  incarnation  of  hope. 

"What  do  you  think,  chief?"  asked  McGrath  of 
Murgatroyd,  one  day  after  the  appeal  had  been 
argued. 

Murgatroyd  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"That  verdict  will  stick,"  was  his  only  comment. 

"By  the  way,"  said  McGrath,  "Pemmican  keeps 
mum  up  there  in  jail ;  but  he's  getting  restless  as  thun 
der.  He  wants  to  know  how  soon  you're  going  to  try 
him  on  this  gambling  charge." 

Murgatroyd  smiled. 

"In  due  course,"  he  returned,  "but  you  can  tell  Pem 
mican  unofficially  that  the  quickest  way  for  him  to 
get  on  trial — or  in  fact  the  quickest  way  for  him  to 
get  off  without  trial — to  get  out  of  jail,  is  to  let  me 
know  the  name  of  the  man  higher  up.  I'm  looking  for 
John  Doe,  and  I  expect  to  keep  Pemmican  under  lock 
and  key  until  I  get  him.  You  understand?" 

"He  sure  does  kick,"  laughed  McGrath. 

Shirley  and  Miriam  and  even  Challoner  watched  the 
course  of  events  with  great  interest.  Miriam's  mouth! 
was  sealed  upon  the  question  of  the  bribe,  but  Chal 
loner  absorbed  what  he  had  heard  in  the  court-room, 
and  hazy  though  it  had  been,  he  noted  that  Miriam's 
manner  was  still  hopeful,  in  fact,  certain.  Shirley, 


186  THE  RED  MOUSE 

too,  felt,  rather  than  knew,  that  Murgatroyd  had  re 
moved  from  himself  not  the  taint  of  bribery,  but  the 
violation  of  his  compact.  She  felt  the  thing  was  cut 
and  dried. 

One  day  the  Clerk  of  the  Court  of  Errors  and  Ap 
peals  placed  in  the  hands  of  a  special  messenger  a 
document  some  five  pages  long.  It  was  a  carbon  copy. 

"Take  that  to  the  prosecutor  of  the  pleas,"  he  com 
manded,  "and  tell  him  it's  advance.  The  original," 
he  added,  "will  be  on  file  to-morrow." 

Murgatroyd  received  and  read  it  with  inward  satis 
faction.  As  he  was  perusing  it,  Mixley  rushed  into 
his  private  room,  and  yelled  in  alarm : — 

"Chief !  Chief !  Look  at  this !"  He,  too,  held  in  his 
hand  a  document  composed  of  several  sheets  of  yellow 
paper,  scribbled  over  with  a  soft,  black,  lead-pencil. 
"It's  from  the  warden — "  he  whispered. 

Murgatroyd  laid  down  his  carbon  copy  and  took 
Mixley's  yellow  sheets.  He  read  the  first  page  and 
rose  to  his  feet. 

"When  did  all  this  happen,  Mixley?"  he  asked  in  a 
tense  voice,  with  difficulty  restraining  his  excitement. 

"About  an  hour  ago." 

"Who  was  the  keeper  that  took  this  down  ?" 

"Jennings." 

Murgatroyd  tapped  the  yellow  sheets  impatiently, 
and  asked : — 


THE  RED  MOUSE  187 

"How  did  he  kill  himself?" 

"Cyanide !     Smuggled  in  somehow,  nobody  knows." 

Murgatroyd  read  the  yellow  sheets  again. 

"Great  Caesar!"  he  exclaimed. 

Mixley,  still  lingering,  now  asked: — 

"Any  news  from  the  Court  of  Errors  and  Ap 
peals?" 

Murgatroj^d  nodded. 

"Here's  their  opinion — just  handed  down." 

"Reversal?" 

Murgatroyd  shook  his  head. 

"No.  Affirmed.  By  the  way,  Mixley,"  he  added, 
"take  this  carbon  copy  over  to  Thorne,  will  you? 
He'll  want  to  see  it." 

"Shall  I  tell  him?"  faltered  Mixley. 

"Tell  him  nothing,"  Murgatroyd  replied.  "Offi 
cially  I  know  nothing  of  this  other  thing.  I'll  in 
vestigate  it  first,  then  I  can  talk  to  him." 

That  very  day,  Thorne,  disappointed  as  he  was,  sent 
a  copy  of  the  opinion  up  to  Mrs.  Challoner,  without 
comment.  Later  over  the  phone  he  told  her : — 

"There  is  no  hope." 

But  Miriam  Challoner  was  not  downcast.  She  had 
doubted  once ;  but  now  she  held  to  her  faith  in  Murga 
troyd;  she  knew  that  Murgatroyd  would  keep  his 
word.  Shirley,  though,  shook  her  head.  She  felt  that 
Challoner  was  doomed.  But  when  Thorne  told  her, 


188  THE  RED  MOUSE 

she  begged  him  not  to  tell  Challoner  until  it  was  ab 
solutely  necessary. 

And  also  on  that  same  day  Murgatroyd  jumped  in 
to  a  cab  and  rode  off  on  a  tour  of  private  inspection. 
Entering  a  large  building  he  asked: — 

"I  want  to  see  Jennings,  if  you  please." 

The  next  day  he  sent  for  Thome. 

"Before  making  things  public,  Thorne,"  he  said,  "I 
wanted  you  to  read  that." 

Thorne  read  with  bulging  eyes  the  yellow  sheets  that 
were  thrust  before  him.  Over  and  over  again  he  read 
them;  then  he  leaned  over  and  touched  Murgatroyd 
on  the  arm,  saying: — 

"Don't  make  it  public." 

"Why  not?" 

"There  are  political  reasons — many  of  them," 
pleaded  Thorne. 

"But  it's  bound  to  leak  out " 

"Never  mind.  I  don't  want  it  made  public."  Thorne 
seemed  terribly  uneasy. 

But  again  Murgatroyd  persisted: — 

"What  of  Mrs.  Challoner?" 

"I'll  take  care  of  Mrs.  Challoner,"  responded  Thorne. 
"Just  leave  the  whole  thing  to  me.  I'll  see  that  every 
thing  is  done." 

"I'll  go  with  you  before  the  Court  at  any  time  you 
please,"  said  Murgatroyd. 


THE  RED  MOUSE  189 

And  that  very  day  they  did  go  before  the  Court.  The 
Court  opened  its  eyes  and  heard  what  they  had  to  say. 

"Well,  well!"  exclaimed  the  Court. 

A  little  while  afterward  Broderick  and  Thorne  sat 
closeted.  Every  crisis  found  them  with  their  heads 
together. 

"Broderick,"  said  the  lawyer,  "this  is  going  to  hurt 
Cradlebaugh's  more  than  ever.  The  Challoner  case 
has  jumped  from  the  frying  pan  into  the  fire."  His 
grip  tightened  on  Broderick.  "This  thing  has  got  to 
be  hushed  up." 

"If  it's  got  to  be,  it  can  be,"  declared  the  politician. 

"But  there's  the  Court  order?" 

Broderick  grinned  as  he  said : — 

"There's  men  has  got  to  file  it — men  that  know  how 
to  file  papers  so  blamed  far  in  the  pigeon-holes  that 
even  a  newspaper  man  can't  crawl  in  after  'em. 
They'll  do  just  as  I  say." 

"Somebody's  bound  to  find  it  out." 

"Not  if  I  stretch  out  this  hand,"  answered  Broderick, 
"That  there  hand  has  covered  a  multitude  of  sins."  He 
squinted  at  Thorne.  "But  there's  just  one  person  I'm 
afraid  of  in  this  thing." 

Thome's  nod  seemed  to  say : 

"Murgatroyd." 

Broderick  shook  his  head. 

"No,  not  a  bit  of  it.    You  take  my  word  for  it,  Mur- 


190  THE  RED  MOUSE 

gatroyd  will  never  open  his  mouth  again  on  the  sub 
ject  of  the  Challoner  case.  He  took  that  cash — he 
can't  fool  me !" 

Thome  sighed: — 

"You  think  we're  safe  with  him  ?" 

Broderick  dismissed  the  subject  of  the  prosecutor 
with  a  wave  of  the  hand. 

"Mrs.  Challoner  is  the  fly  in  the  ointment." 

Thome,  in  turn,  quite  as  vigorously  dissented : — 

"You're  wrong  there.  I'll  handle  Mrs.  Challoner.  If 
she  ever  asks  questions,  I'll  answer  her  with  the  right 
kind  of  answers.  Don't  worry,  Broderick,"  and  look 
ing  at  his  watch,  added:  "You'd  better  be  about  it 
and  do  your  little  part." 

"I'll  do  mine  as  soon  as  you  do  yours." 

"What's  mine  now?" 

Broderick  held  out  his  hand,  and  said : — 

"A  little  cheque,  counsellor." 

And  again  on  that  very  day  the  doors  of  the  big 
"building  that  Murgatroyd  had  visited  opened  wide. 
From  them  there  stepped  forth  a  man — no,  four  men 

four  men  laden  heavily.  With  these  four  men  was 

a  fifth,  but  he  was  unseen.  Between  them,  in  the  full 
light  of  day,  the  four  men  carried  a  long,  oak  box, 
carried  it  quietly  but  swiftly,  and  swung  it  suddenly 
into  a  battered-looking  hearse. 

"That's  the  end  of  him !"  they  said  among  themselves. 


XII 

SOMEWHERE  on  the  East  Side,  beyond  Gramercy  Park 
and  Irving  Place,  with  their  beautiful  old  houses ;  be 
yond  Stuyvesant  Square,  once  equally  famous  for  the 
princely  hospitality  of  its  residents ;  still  further  on 
in  that  section  which  lies  toward  the  river,  where  the 
women  and  children  as  well  as  the  men  toil  unceasingly 
for  the  bare  necessities  of  life,  where  evidences  of  pov 
erty  and  suffering  are  all  about,  and  which  is  com 
monly  termed  "the  slums" ;  somewhere  there,  we  say, 
in  one  of  the  smaller  tenement  buildings,  some  months 
later,  Miriam  Challoner,  one  time  wealthy  and  fashion 
able  woman  of  society,  took  refuge. 

Within  this  new-found  home — a  nest  consisting  of 
two  rooms — everything  was  scrupulously  neat;  but 
except  for  a  small  gilt  chair  that  caught  the  rays  of 
the  sunlight,  and  that  seemed  fully  as  incongruous  to 
its  surroundings  as  was  the  woman  herself,  there  was 
nothing  in  its  furnishings  to  remind  one  of  former 
prosperity.  In  a  far  corner  of  the  adjoining  room 
was  a  stove  on  which  a  frugal  meal  was  cooking,  send 
ing  its  odour  throughout  the  small  apartment — a  meal 
that  in  former  days  she  would  not  have  thought  pos 
sible  even  for  her  servants.  At  the  window  of  this 
room, — which  was  bedroom  and  living-room  com- 


192  THE  RED  MOUSE 

bined, — upon  a  small  table  was  a  typewriter,  before 
which  sat  Miriam  Challoner,  clad  in  a  sombre  dress 
that  was  almost  nun-like  in  its  severity.  She  was  pale, 
and  on  her  face  was  the  look  of  a  woman  acquainted 
with  grief. 

She  read  as  she  wrote : — 

"Now  this  indenture  witnesseth, —  comma, —  that  the 
said  party  of  the  first  part, —  comma, —  for  the  bet 
ter  securing  the  payment  of  the  said  sum  of  money 
mentioned  in  the  condition  of  the  said  bond  or  obliga 
tion, —  comma, —  with  interest  thereon, —  comma, — 
according  to  the  true  intent  and  meaning  thereof, — 
semicolon, —  and  also  for  and  in  consideration  of  the 
sum  of  one  dollar, —  comma, —  to  him  in  hand  well 
and  duly  paid " 

Suddenly  she  halted  and  fingered  the  copy  lying  on 
the  table  at  her  right. 

"Twenty  more  pages — I  can't  do  them  now    .    .    .    ' 
she  muttered  half -aloud,  and  crossing  the  room  un 
steadily,  threw  herself  upon  the  bed — a  cheap  bed  that 
groaned  and  creaked  as  if  it  felt  her  weight  upon  it. 

"...  tired — I'm  so  tired,"  she  moaned,  as  she 
lay  there  supinely  for  some  time.  All  of  a  sudden,  she 
sat  bolt  upright  in  bed,  for  the  sound  of  a  timid  knock 
on  the  door  had  reached  her  ears ;  but  thinking,  per 
haps,  that  she  had  been  dreaming,  she  waited  until  the 
knock  was  repeated,  and  only  then  did  she  cry  out : — 


THE  RED  MOUSE  193 

"Well?    What  is  it?" 

There  was  no  answer.  A  moment  more,  and  she  was 
at  the  door  confronting  a  man  and  a  woman,  both 
gaily  caparisoned.  They  stood  hand  in  hand,  sheep 
ishly,  smilingly,  the  woman  looking  more  like  some 
guilty  child,  who  was  being  brought  to  task  by  an 
over-indulgent  parent.  For  a  brief  second,  that 
seemed  interminably  long  to  Mrs.  Challoner  waiting 
for  them  to  speak,  they  stood  thus ;  and  it  was  not  un 
til  they  called  her  name  that  she  recognised  them. 

"Mrs.  Challoner — we  thought — "  they  stammered 
in  chorus. 

"Why,  it's  Stevens,"  Mrs.  Challoner  broke  in,  at  last, 
"and  you  too,  Foster !"  and  the  colour  instantly  went 
flying  from  her  lips  to  her  cheeks. 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  again  came  in  chorus  from  Stevens 
and  Foster,  late  butler  and  lady's  maid  to  Mrs.  Chal 
loner,  and  still  hand  in  hand. 

"Oh,  Mrs.  Challoner,"  then  spoke  up  Foster,  "what 
do  you  think  ?  We've  gone  and  got  married !" 

"Married  ?  Foster !  Stevens !  Why,  yes,  of  course,  you 
do  look  like  bride  and  groom,"  said  Mrs.  Challoner, 
her  heart  for  the  moment  sinking  at  all  this  happi 
ness  ;  and  then :  "Come  in,  and  do  tell  me  all  about  it." 

"Mrs.  Challoner,"  quickly  put  in  Stevens,  as  they 
came  into  the  room,  "she  pestered  me  'till  I  had  to 
marry  her — there  was  no  getting  rid  of  her." 


194  THE  RED  MOUSE 

A  faint  smile  crossed  Miriam's  face,  and  soon  she 
found  herself  entering  into  the  happiness  of  this 
couple,  just  as  she  would  have  done  in  the  old  days; 
and  so  well  did  they  suceed  in  making  her  forget  her 
present  position,  that  she  was  actually  trying  to  de 
termine  what  would  be  a  most  appropriate  and,  at  the 
same  time,  a  most  pleasing  gift  to  them.  Absorbed, 
therefore,  in  her  laudable  perplexities,  it  was  quite  a 
long  time  before  she  fully  realised  that  there  were  but 
two  chairs,  a  fact  which  had  not  escaped  the  eyes  of 
these  well-trained  servants,  who  still  remained  stand 
ing  in  the  centre  of  the  room ;  and  when,  at  last,  the 
truth  dawned  upon  her,  it  was  with  the  greatest  diffi 
culty  that  she  kept  back  the  tears,  as  half-coaxingly, 
half -authoritatively  she  prevailed  upon  the  terribly 
embarrassed  pair  to  occupy  them,  while  she  seated  her 
self  on  the  edge  of  the  bed. 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  resumed  Foster,  determined  to  tell  all 
there  was  to  tell,  "there  were  about  six  men  that  I 
could  have  married  as  well  as  not — not  like  Stevens, 
but  big,  fine-looking  men,  every  one  of  them.  But 
Stevens  here  got  in  such  a  way  about  it,  that  I  felt 
sorry  for  him,  and  I  gave  them  all  the  go-by  for  him. 
But  there's  one  thing  certain,"  she  concluded  with  a 
sigh,  "I  didn't  marry  for  good  looks,  nor  for  money 
either,  for  that  matter." 

"You  married  for  love,  Foster,  and  that  is  so  much 


THE  RED  MOUSE  195 

better,"  commented  Mrs.  Challoner,  revelling  in  their 
joy- 

"I  dare  say,"  conceded  Foster,  "that  I'll  come  to  love 
him  in  time." 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  put  in  Stevens,  eager  to  get  in  a 
word,  "she  bothered  me  until  I  finally  succumbed, 
though  my  tastes  were — well,  ma'am,  I  must  admit 
that  I  like  'em  a  little  plumper." 

To  Miriam  Challoner,  it  was  indeed  a  treat  to  hear 
their  good-natured  banter.  Presently  she  asked  with 
interest : — 

"What  are  you  doing  now,  Stevens?" 

"He's  a  shofer,  ma'am,"  spoke  up  Foster  quickly 
with  pride. 

"A  what?"  inquired  Mrs.  Challoner. 

"A  showfure,  ma'am,"  corrected  Stevens  with  dig 
nity.  "She'll  learn  in  time  .  .  .  I'm  working  for 
Bernhardt,  the  brewer — a  hundred  dollars  a  month, 
ma'am." 

"Indeed!  So  you're  a  chauffeur,  and  earning  one 
hundred  dollars  a  month !"  exclaimed  Miriam  Chal 
loner.  "Why  that's  fine!"  And  a  hundred  dollars 
never  seemed  larger  to  any  one's  eyes. 

Stevens  shrugged  his  shoulders  as  he  answered  in  an 
offhand  manner: — 

"What's  a  hundred " 

"A  hundred  dollars  a  month!"  again  sighed  Mrs. 


196  THE  RED  MOUSE 

Challoner ;  and  fell  to  planning  what  that  sum  would 
do  for  her. 

Suddenly,  Stevens  broke  in  upon  her  thoughts, 
with : — 

"What  a  cosy  little  place  you  have,  ma'am!"  And 
turning  to  Foster:  "I  hope  we  can  have  just  such  a 
little  place  as  this  some  day.  It's  great!" 

"I'd  know  in  a  minute,  ma'am,  that  you  had  ar 
ranged  things,"  said  Foster,  falling  in  readily  with 
her  husband's  enthusiasm. 

For  an  instant  Mrs.  Challoner  shaded  her  eyes  with 
her  hand.  The  room,  she  knew  only  too  well,  was  the 
very  last  expression  of  poverty,  yet  these  two  had 
shown  a  delicacy  and  kindness  that  she  had  supposed 
to  be  far  beyond  them. 

"But  where's  your  manners,  Foster?"  suddenly  de 
manded  Stevens.  "Surely  you  might  put  your  hands 
to  fixing  up  that  supper  on  the  stove !  Do  now,  like  a 
good  girl  .  .  .  ' 

"Indeed,  she  must  not — and  in  that  lovely  gown,  too 
— besides,  there  is  really  nothing  to  do,"  Miriam  Chal 
loner  quickly  returned,  for  she  could  not  bear  to  have 
Foster  see  what  was  cooking  there. 

"Oh,  I'll  be  very  careful,  besides,  it  will  seem  natural 
to  be  doing  things  for  you,"  persisted  her  former  maid. 

"Yes,  take  a  look  at  the  roast  baking  there  in  the 
oven,  anyway,"  said  Stevens;  and  no  sooner  had  his 


THE  RED  MOUSE  197 

wife  turned  her  steps  toward  the  kitchen,  than  he 
quickly  leaned  over  to  Mrs.  Challoner,  and  thrusting 
something  in  her  hand,  he  said  in  an  undertone : — 

"She's  treasurer,  ma'am,  and  I  have  to  account  for 
every  penny;  but  this  she  knows  nothing  about.  It's 
for  you — please  take  it." 

In  an  instant  Mrs.  Challoner  was  on  her  feet,  and 
putting  the  money  back  in  his  hand,  she  exclaimed : — 

"Why,  Stevens,  I  can't  take  this!  Really,  I  have 
money  .  .  .  ' 

For  a  moment  Stevens's  eyes  wandered  about  the 
poorly  furnished  room,  betraying  his  thoughts  to  the 
contrary.  This  was  not  lost  on  Mrs.  Challoner,  who 
immediately  went  on  to  explain : — 

"Yes,  Stevens,  and  I  earn  it,  too."  And  she  pointed 
to  the  typewriter  with  a  certain  pride. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  ma'am,"  said  her  former  but 
ler  contritely,  returning  the  money  quickly  to  his 
pocket.  "Only,  don't  let  her  know  ..." 

When  Foster  came  back  into  the  room,  they  were 
standing  over  the  typewriter,  Mrs.  Challoner  explain 
ing  its  mechanism. 

"Oh,  what  a  fine  thing  it  is  to  have  an  education !" 
exclaimed  the  young  wife,  looking  sharply  at  her  hus 
band;  but  her  penetrating  glance  was  too  much  for 
Stevens,  and  turning  quickly  on  his  heel,  he  proceeded 
to  rearrange  the  chairs. 


198  THE  RED  MOUSE 

"Hey,  there!"  suddenly  called  out  Foster.  "Why 
aren't  you  more  of  a  gentleman — where's  your  man 
ners?  Run  along  there,  like  a  good  fellow,  and  put 
some  water  in  the  tea-kettle !"  Stevens  lost  no  time  in 
obeying;  then  drawing  close  to  Mrs.  Challoner,  Fos 
ter  whispered: — 

"This  is  for  you,  ma'am,  but  don't  let  Stevens  know, 
for  he's  as  tight  as  a  drum-head." 

"But,"  protested  Mrs.  Challoner,  looking  at  the 
other  in  astonishment. 

"Please,  I  saved  it  just  for  you,"  insisted  Foster, 
with  a  look  of  disappointment  on  her  face. 

"Really,  Foster,  I  don't  need  it,"  declared  Mrs.  Chal 
loner  stoutly  but  kindly.  "I  can't  take  it.  Some  day, 
perhaps,  I  may  need  money,  and  then  I'll  send  for 
you."  And  then  quietly  changing  the  subject:  "How 
fresh  you  look,  Foster !  And  what  a  man  you've  mar 
ried!  There  is  no  need  to  ask  if  you  are  happy, 
for " 

"Well,"  said  Stevens,  approaching  them,  "we  must  be 
going  now,  for  Bernhardt  will  be  waiting  for  us." 

"It  was  good  of  you  to  see  us,  ma'am,"  said  Foster, 
putting  out  her  hand,  just  as  she  had  seen  the  ladies 
do  in  the  old  days  at  the  big  Challoner  house  on  the 
Avenue. 

"So  you  married  for  love,"  said  Miriam  Challoner, 
as  they  started  to  go. 


THE  RED  MOUSE  199 

"Well,  he  did,"  conceded  Foster. 

"She  did,  ma'am,"  corrected  Stevens;  and  presently 
they  were  sailing  down  the  street  like  a  pair  of  lovers 
"walking  out"  on  a  Sunday  afternoon. 

"One  hundred  dollars  a  month!"  sighed  Miriam,  re 
seating  herself  at  the  typewriter.  "And  they  were 
going  to  give  me  twenty-five  dollars — the  faithful 
dears !" 

Once  more  engrossed  in  her  work,  she  did  not  hear 
the  door-bell,  which  had  been  ringing  persistently.  At 
the  end  of  a  page  she  paused  and  bent  her  head  low 
over  her  work. 

"...    for  love,"  she  mused,  half -aloud. 

Meanwhile,  her  caller,  determined  to  be  admitted,  had 
stolen  softly  into  the  room,  though  it  was  not  until 
she  stood  beside  her  that  she  attracted  Miriam's  at 
tention.  For  a  moment  Miriam  glared  hard  at  her; 
she  could  not  believe  her  own  eyes;  then,  suddenly 
rising  to  her  feet,  she  cried  half-j  oyf  ully,  half -regret- 
fully :- 

"Why,  it's  Shirley  Bloodgood!  Oh,  why  did 
you  come!  You  must  not  stay,  you  must  not 
see  ...  " 

"Why  did  you  hide  from  me?"  quickly  returned 
Shirley.  "I  have  searched  for  you  for  months,  and  it 
was  only  yesterday  that  I  learned  from  Stevens  where 
you  were,  who,  by  the  way,  had  orders  not  to  reveal 


200  THE  RED  MOUSE 

your  whereabouts.  You  might  as  well  have  moved  a 
thousand  miles  away,  as  everybody  thinks  you  have." 

Miriam  sighed  weakly. 

"It  takes  money  to  move  a  thousand  miles  away," 
she  protested  feebly. 

"You  are  like  a  needle  in  a  hay  stack  over  here,"  con 
tinued  Shirley. 

"But  why  did  you  come?"  Miriam  kept  on  protest 
ing.  "Why,  Shirley  ..." 

Shirley  stretched  forth  her  arms,  saying: — 

"And  you  didn't  want  to  see  me !" 

"Yes,  yes,"  cried  Miriam,  suddenly  catching  Shirley 
and  clinging  to  her  affectionately.  "Yes,  I  have 
wanted  you  to  come  so  much,  but  I  hoped  you  never 
would  see  this !"  And  she  spread  out  her  arms  as 
though  to  exhibit  the  room. 

"What  a  poor  opinion  you  have  of  me !  Why,  Mir 
iam,  if  I  wanted  to  see  handsome  apartments,  I  need 
not  have  taken  all  this  trouble  to  find  you.  No,  in 
deed,  I  value  your  friendship  too  highly  to  desert  you 
on  account  of  this." 

And  now  the  two  women  fell  to  talking  about  things 
past  and  present.  After  a  while,  it  was  Shirley  who 
delicately  broached  the  subject  of  Laurie. 

"And  Laurie — how  is  he  ?"  she  asked. 

Miriam's  eyes  kindled  for  an  instant,  but  its  fire  soon 
died  out. 


THE  RED  MOUSE  201 

"Poor  boy,"  she  answered,  "he's  under  such  a  strain. 
It's  a  wonder  he  doesn't  break  down.  He's  so  good 
and  kind  through  it  all,  too.  He's  a  fine  fellow,  now," 
she  went  on  with  great  enthusiasm. 

"Let  me  see,"  said  Shirley,  reminiscently,  "his  convic 
tion  was  reversed  on  appeal,  wasn't  it?" 

"Why,  no ;  don't  you  remember  that  it  was  affirmed 
— affirmed  ..." 

"I  do  remember  now.  And  it  was  that  day  or  the 
next  one  that  you  ran  away  from  me,  you  bad  girl, 
and  I've  never  seen  you  since.  Affirmed — affirmed," 
she  mused ;  and  then  suddenly  leaned  forward  and  in 
quired  eagerly: — 

"Then  how  did  he  get  off?" 

Miriam  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"I  don't  know,"  she  said,  "nobody  knows;  not  even 
Laurie  knows  that.  One  day  after  the  affirmance,  the 
jail  doors  were  opened,  and  he  was  free — that's  all — 
and  he  came  back  to  me." 

"Surely  Murgatroyd  knows,"  said  Shirley. 

"Oh,  yes,  of  course  he  knows ;  but  we  have 
never  asked  any  questions.  Why  should  we?  I 
shall  never  forget  Murgatroyd  though — I  remem 
ber  him  in  my  prayers.  He  was  honest ;  he  kept  his 
word " 

Shirley  smiled  a  grim  smile. 

"Murgatroyd,  the  man  with  a  price!    Well,  I  sup- 


202  THE  RED  MOUSE 

pose  it's  just  as  well  that  there  are  people  in  this  world 
who  can  be  bought  now  and  then." 

"I  have  never  forgiven  myself,"  sighed  Miriam. 

Shirley  looked  up  at  her  questioningly. 

"You?    What  for,  pray?" 

"For  blurting  out  in  the  court-room  what  I  did  when 
the  jury  found  Laurie  guilty.  Why,  it  was  abomi 
nable!  it  was  treachery!  I  had  promised,  don't  you 
see?" 

"That  was  clever  in  Murgatroyd,"  admitted  Shir 
ley.  "He  would  have  been  a  fool  to  acquit  Laurie  on 
that  trial.  Oh,  yes,"  she  added,  with  a  sneer,  "he's 
clever,  all  right !" 

Mrs.  Challoner  straightened  up. 

"Fortunately  my  outbreak  did  no  great  harm;  no 
body  believed  me." 

"Except  myself,"  observed  Shirley,  "and  Murga 
troyd!" 

"Even  Laurie  didn't  believe  me,"  went  on  Miriam, 
"until — well,  I  don't  know  whether  he's  quite  sure 
about  it  to-day.  We  never  discuss  the  subject,  any 
way.  It's  barely  possible,"  she  said,  flushing,  "that  he 
thinks  we  spent  the  money  long  ago." 

There  was  a  pause  that  was  a  trifle  embarrassing  to 
both  women.  Miriam  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"Murgatroyd  is  making  a  name  for  himself,  isn't 
he?" 


THE  RED  MOUSE  203 

Shirley  threw  up  her  hands  in  indignation. 

"Who  wouldn't,  with  that  stolen  money  to  back 
him !"  she  exclaimed  fiercely. 

Miriam  shook  her  head. 

"He's  doing  good  work  with  it.  He's  breaking  up 
the  organisation — the  inside  ring.  I'm  sure  that  the 
effect  of  his  work  is  felt  even  over  here."  And  then 
she  added  vehemently :  "But  his  best  work  will  be  over 
when  he  has  succeeded  in  breaking  Cradlebaugh's. 
When  he  does  that " 

"After  he  downs  Cradlebaugh's,"  interrupted  Shir 
ley,  "if  he  ever  does,  I  hope  he'll  down  himself.  That's 
my  wish  for  Billy  Murgatroyd !" 

"Murgatroyd  is  honest,"  protested  Miriam. 

Shirley  smiled  a  hard  smile. 

"You  mistake  his  motive,  Miriam.  He's  ambitious 
— frightfully  ambitious.  Why  even  now  he's  plan 
ning  to  go  to  the  Senate,"  declared  Shirley;  but  she 
did  not  add  that  it  was  she  who  had  put  the  idea  into 
his  head.  "Think  of  Billy  Murgatroyd's  being  Sen 
ator  !  He'll  ask  a  billion  the  next  time  he's  bought,  in 
stead  of  a  million !"  she  wound  up,  scornfully. 

"You  forget,"  quietly  but  forcibly  reminded  Mir 
iam,  "that  I  stand  up  for  Murgatroyd." 

"Poor  Miriam,"  sighed  Shirley  to  herself,  "she  al 
ways  was  easily  fooled."  A  moment  later,  she  ex 
claimed  :  "A  typewriter !" 


204  THE  RED  MOUSE 

"I  don't  wonder  at  your  surprise,"  said  Miriam. 
"But  it  is  easy  work  and  I  like  it  immensely.  I  work 
for  different  people  in  the  neighbourhood,"  she  went 
on  to  explain.  "A  real  estate  dealer,  one  or  two 
lawyers,  it's " 

She  broke  off  abruptly,  for  they  were  interrupted  by 
a  faint  whistle. 

"It's  the  speaking  tube,"  said  Miriam,  tremblingly ; 
but  the  next  instant  she  was  in  a  little  dark  alcove 
calling  down  the  tube. 

Meanwhile,  Shirley  allowed  her  gaze  to  wander  about 
the  apartment;  nothing  had  escaped  her  notice,  not 
even  the  cooking  that  was  going  on  in  the  kitchen. 

"Somebody  whistled  up  the  tube,"  said  Miriam,  re 
turning,  "but  I  couldn't  get  an  answer.  I  can't 
imagine  who  it  is." 

Then  suddenly  for  the  third  time  that  afternoon,  the 
outer  door  opened ;  but  this  time  it  was  thrust  open  with 
great  violence,  and  James  Lawrence  Challoner  came 
into  the  room  with  the  stamp  of  the  gutter  upon 
him. 

Shirley  was  dumbfounded.  Quickly  her  mind  went 
back  to  that  afternoon,  long  ago  it  seemed,  when  he 
had  come  home  after  the  tragedy.  Then,  it  is  true, 
he  was  unkempt,  soiled,  but  now  .  .  .  and  she 
asked  herself  whether  it  were  possible  that  Miriam 
could  not  see  the  man  as  he  really  was.  The  answer 


THE  RED  MOUSE  205 

was  immediately  forthcoming,  for  Miriam  went  over 
and  caught  him  in  her  embrace. 

"Poor  Laurie,  tired,  aren't  you,  dear?"  she  said 
fondly ;  and  then  turning  toward  the  girl :  "Here's  an 
old  friend  of  ours — Shirley  Bloodgood !" 

"So  I  see,"  he  growled;  and  without  more  ado  he 
turned  to  Miriam  and  demanded  gruffly : — 

"Well,  where's  your  money?  I've  got  to  have  some 
money  right  away." 

Miriam  fumbled  for  an  instant  at  her  waist.  She  did 
this  more  for  appearance'  sake  than  anything  else,  for 
she  well  knew  that  she  had  none  to  give  him.  Every 
day  she  had  given  him  about  everything  she  made. 

"Yes,  Laurie,"  she  faltered,  "yes,  of  course."  And 
turning  to  Shirley,  added  by  way  of  apology  for  him : 
"Such  an  ordeal  as  Laurie  has  been  through — such  a 
strain." 

Shirley  was  in  a  panic.  What  she  had  seen  was 
enough  to  make  her  heart-sick. 

"Oh,"  she  suddenly  exclaimed,  "I  have  forgotten  all 
about  father!  I  left  him  alone — I  simply  must  go 
now.  You  don't  know  how  glad  . . .  .  '  And  turn 
ing  to  Challoner,  she  held  out  her  hand  to  him.  But 
ignoring  her  completely,  he  again  said  to  his  wife; — 

"Miriam,  where  is  that  money  ?" 

"Laurie  is  such  a  business  man  now,  Shirley,"  said 
Mirianu  smiling;  bravely  at  tiie  girl. 


206  THE  RED  MOUSE 

But  the  contempt  which  Shirley  felt  for  the  man  be 
fore  her  was  too  great  for  words ;  and  she  merely  re 
peated  : — 

"Yes,  I  must  be  going  now !" 

Half  way  across  the  room  she  halted,  hesitated  for  a 
moment,  and  then  finally  opening  her  purse,  took 
from  it  a  fifty  dollar  bill. 

"There,  Miriam,"  she  said  with  a  note  of  relief,  "I 
have  been  meaning  for  a  long  time  to  pay  back  that 
fifty  dollars  I  borrowed  from  you  a  few  years  ago — 
when  I  was  so  hard  up  for  money.  I'm  ashamed  not 
to  have  returned  it  before ;  and  it's  just  like  you  not 
to  remind  me.  There,  dear,  I've  put  it  on  the  chif 
fonier  ;  and  now,  good-bye !"  And  she  was  gone  be 
fore  Miriam  could  even  protest  against  her  action. 

For  Miriam  knew  quite  as  well  as  did  Shirley  that 
there  never  had  been  such  a  loan  between  them ;  and 
rushing  out  into  the  hall,  she  called  to  the  other  to 
come  back;  but  Shirley  by  this  time  was  well  out  of 
hearing. 

"She's  gone!"  Miriam  declared  forlornly,  panting 
from  her  fruitless  chase. 

Shirley's  flight  did  not  worry  Challoner.  He  took 
advantage  of  Miriam's  temporary  absence  to  steal  to 
the  chiffonier  and  to  seize  the  fifty  dollar  bill.  Mir 
iam  entered  the  room  in  time  to  see  him  thrusting  it  in 
to  his  pocket,  and  cried  out  angrily : — 


THE  RED  MOUSE  207 

"Laurie,  I  wish  you  to  put  that  back !  We  are  not 
thieves ;  it  does  not  belong  to  us ;  and  I'm  going  to 
send  it  back  to  Shirley." 

Challoner  grinned. 

"What  do  you  think  I  am?"  he  finally  asked.  "A 
fool?" 

He  tried  to  pass  her;  she  blocked  his  way,  and  re 
peated  : — 

"I  want  you  to  put  that  back !" 

"I  have  got  to  have  some  money,"  he  maintained  sulk 
ily,  stowing  it  still  further  in  his  trousers  pocket. 

"Give  me  that  fifty  dollar  bill,  I  say !"  went  on  Mir 
iam,  clutching  at  him. 

"No,  I  will  not !"  returned  her  husband,  stubbornly, 
and  sought  to  escape ;  but  she  caught  him  by  the  arm 
and  pulled  him  back.  He  tried  to  wrench  himself 
away ;  but  for  once  her  strength  was  superior  to  his. 
She  was  beside  herself  with  sudden  anger,  with  shame, 
with  ignominy,  with  agony. 

"You  give  that  bill  to  me!"  she  said  through  her 
closed  teeth. 

"You  let  me  go !"  he  growled,  almost  jerking  himself 
out  of  her  grasp.  Then  followed  a  struggle  that  was 
short,  sharp  but  decisive,  inasmuch  as  he  finally  suc 
ceeded  in  wrenching  himself  free  from  her.  And  now, 
turning  quickly,  he  smote  her  with  his  clenched  hand 
full  in  the  face. 


5208  THE  RED  MOUSE 

Miriam  staggered  back ;  her  eyes  opened  wide  in  hu 
miliated  astonishment. 

"Oh!  Laurie!"  she  cried,  not  with  physical  pain,  al 
though  there  upon  her  face,  now  red,  now  white,  was 
a  broad,  blotched  mark — the  bruise  that  the  brute 
had  left  there. 

He  made  a  movement  to  go;  but  again  she  was  in 
time  to  prevent  him ;  for  quick  as  a  flash  she  had  darted 
to  the  chiffonier,  opened  the  top  drawer  and  drawn 
forth  a  weapon. 

"Stop !"  she  cried  in  a  hard  voice.  "Don't  you  dare 
to  leave  this  room  with  that  money !" 

Challoner  blinked  at  her  stupidly. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do?"  he  demanded. 

Miriam  laughed  hysterically. 

"What  am  I  going  to  do?  I  know  what  you're  go 
ing  to  do!  You're  going  to  bring  that  fifty  dollars 
back  here  to  me!" 

"Indeed?    Well  I'm  not!"  reiterated  Challoner. 

Miriam  tapped  the  pistol  in  her  hand. 

"Do  you  see  this?" 

He  grunted  fearlessly. 

"Well,  what  of  ft?" 

"Give  me  that  money,"  she  insisted,  approaching 
him.  As  yet  she  had  not  levelled  the  weapon ;  and 
Challoner,  seeing  his  opportunity,  started  once 
more. 


THE  RED  MOUSE  209 

"Stop!"  It  was  a  new  voice  that  spoke  now:  the 
blow  that  had  struck  her  face  had  suddenly  trans 
formed  her  into  a  desperate  woman. 

Challoner  stopped;  for  he  saw  the  weapon  trained 
upon  him.  Again,  without  affecting  her  aim,  she 
tapped  it. 

"Listen  to  me !"  she  cried,  her  voice  growing  hoarser 
as  she  went  on,  "this  thing  has  been  responsible  for 
one  murder,  and  now,  Lawrence  Challoner,  I'm  going 
to  kill  you  with  it.  It's  the  last  straw  that  breaks  the 
camel's  back.  I  hate  you !  I  despise  you !"  she  raged. 
"I  loved  you  once,  I  have  alvays  loved  you  until  now ; 
you  loved  me  once,  too,  I  know — though  other  people 
thought  that  you  had  married  me  for  my  money.  But 
I  knew  different — you  couldn't  fool  me  about  that! 
And  it  was  because  of  that  love  that  I  have  lived  for 
you  and  nothing  else.  You  have  been  everything  in 
the  world  to  me — my  god,  almost.  But  it  is  all  over 
now !  I'm  through  with  you,  and  I'm  going  to  have 
you  thrown  like  some  soiled  rag  into  the  gutters  of 
humanity — where  you  belong !" 

She  paused  for  breath,  but  not  once  did  her  weapon 
falter. 

"There  are  two  things,"  she  resumed,  "that  stand  out 
in  my  memory  just  now.  The  first  is  the  night  when 
you  did  not  come  home!  Do  you  remember  that 
night? —  No — there  were  too  many  of  them  later  on! 


210  THE  RED  MOUSE 

But  I  have  never  forgotten  that  night  I  spent 
in  the  torture  chamber!  It  was  a  white  night  for 
me." 

Again  she  paused,  and  her  voice  deepened  as  she 
said : — 

"Lawrence  Challoner,  the  time  will  come  when 
you  will  wail  and  whine  and  wonder  why  I  don't  come 
to  you — why  it  is  not  my  footsteps  that  you  hear! 
But  you  will  wait  for  me  through  a  long,  long  night, 
and  I  shall  never  come  .  .  . 

"Oh,  it  does  me  good  when  I  recall  the  day  that 
Prosecutor  Murgatroy d  told  those  twelve  men  the  kind 
of  a  man  you  were,"  she  declared  scornfully.  "It  does 
me  good,  too,  to  recall  how  you  writhed  under  the  lash 
and  quivered  when  he  cut  you  to  the  quick.  But  now 
I'm  going  to  do  more  to  you  than  you  ever  did  to  me 
— more  than  Murgatroyd  did  to  you  ..." 

She  stopped,  and  then  went  on  mercilessly : — 

"I'm  going  to  tear  your  soul  out — yes,  you've  got  a 
soul,  or  I  would  never  have  gone  down  into  the  depths 
with  you !  But  now  I'm  through  serving  you  without 
receiving  so  much  as  a  smile,"  she  continued  fiercely, 
her  body  swaying,  but  her  aim  still  true.  "I  don't 
ask  for  my  rights  or  my  just  dues ;  a  smile  and  a 
kind  word  now  and  then  is  all  I  ask.  My  pride 
is  not  all  gone ;  I'd  like  to  be  proud  of  you  just  once. 
I  lie  about  you  to  my  friends — to  my  dearest  friends 


THE  RED  MOUSE  211 

— and  you  convict  me  with  the  miserable  truth!  I 
clung  to  you  through  all  your  vices,  I  clung  to  you 
even  when  you  killed,  I  clung  to  you  because  I  knew 
that  somewhere  within  you  there  was  something  that 
clamoured  for  me,  that  clung  to  my  affection.  But 
feeble  as  it  was,  it  is  dead  now.  And  you  are  the  shell, 
the  ugly  hulk,  a  thing  without  the  soul  that  I  cared 
for !  But  I'm  through  with  you — I'm  going  to  kill  you 
— don't  you  move — I'm  through  with  you — 
through — "  The  next  moment  she  dropped  the 
weapon,  and  it  fell  clattering  to  the  floor. 

"No,  no,"  she  cried,  apparently  calm  now.  "I  won't 
kill  you — I  wouldn't  be  guilty  of  such  a  thing.  You're 
not  worth  it,"  she  burst  out  into  a  wild  laugh. 
"You're  not  worth  it — no — no — no — "  she  cried, 
trailing  off  into  hysteria. 

At  that  instant  Shirley  Bloodgood  once  more  en 
tered  the  room.  Some  instinct  had  brought  her  back 
again. 

"Miriam !"  she  exclaimed. 

Miriam  burst  forth  into  another  wild  laugh,  and 
then  threw  herself  into  the  arms  of  the  girl,  where  she 
lay  unconscious  for  some  moments. 

"She's  fainted,"  said  Shirley,  glancing  at  Challoner, 
accusingly. 

Challoner  stood  stupidly  where  he  was  for  an  instant. 
Then  he  thrust  his  hand  into  his  trousers  pocket  and 


THE  RED  MOUSE 

pulled  out  a  fifty  dollar  bill,  saying  in  a  new  strange 
tone : — 

"Shirley,  I  took  this  fifty  dollar  bill  from  the  drawer 
over  there — you'd  better  take  it — it  belongs  to  you." 

The  girl  took  it  wonderingly. 

"I'll  take  care  of  her,"  Challoner  went  on,  gently 
taking  the  form  of  his  young  wife  from  Shirley  and 
holding  her  in  his  arms. 

It  was  thus  that  Shirley  Bloodgood  left  them;  and 
as  the  door  closed  on  her,  Challoner  leaned  over  Mir 
iam  and  stroked  her  face  and  kissed  her  affectionately 
while  the  tears  rolled  down  his  cheeks.  That  same 
night  she  was  taken  to  a  hospital  with  a  raging  fever. 


XIII 

THE  following  morning,  James  Lawrence  Challoner 
did  that  which  he  had  never  done  since  his  marriage : 
he  started  out  to  look  for  a  job.  Something,  which 
he  could  not  explain,  was  forcing  him  to  try  to  get 
work ;  but  had  he  been  given  to  self-analysis,  he  would 
have  known  that  it  was  Miriam's  wrath  in  her  ad 
versity  that  had  kindled  into  flame  the  flickering,  dy 
ing  spark  of  his  manhood. 

Until  now,  Challoner  had  assumed  that  work  was  to 
be  had  by  any  man  for  the  mere  asking  of  it ;  but  he 
was  surprised,  startled,  shocked,  to  find  that  it  was 
not ;  that  is  to  say,  the  clerkships  and  such  work  as  he 
thought  would  be  to  his  liking ;  and  each  night  he  re 
turned  to  his  cheerless,  lonely  room  in  the  tenement, 
sore,  leg-weary,  after  a  long  unsuccessful  quest. 
Work?  Little  by  little  he  was  learning  that  there  was 
no  work  "lying  round  loose"  for  the  James  Lawrence 
Challoners  of  this  world !  And  yet  he  persevered. 

"I  must  find  something  to  do,"  he  kept  saying  over 
and  over  again  to  himself. 

And  then  one  day  at  the  end  of  two  weeks  he  found 
himself  at  the  end  of  a  long  line  of  Italian  labourers 
who  were  seeking  employment. 


THE  RED  MOUSE 

When  the  foreman  came  to  Challoner,  he  called  out 
in  surprise: — 

"What  do  you  want?" 

"Work!"  replied  the  man  inside  the  shell  of  Chal 
loner. 

"With  the  'ginneys'?" 

"With  the  'ginneys,'  "  assented  Challoner. 

The  foreman  stared. 

"All  right,"  he  said,  after  thinking  a  bit,  "let's  have 
your  name." 

For  a  brief  second  Challoner  hesitated ;  there  was  a 
new  light  in  his  eyes  when  he  said: — 

"Challoner— J.  L." 

And  all  that  day  he  worked — worked  with  his  hands, 
and  with  his  feet — worked  with  the  gang  tamping 
concrete.  It  is  a  simple  enough  process  when  one 
stands  aside  and  looks  at  it ;  but  after  two  hours  of  it, 
Challoner  thought  he  would  drop  in  his  tracks. 

It  so  happened  that  his  work  was  on  a  new  depart 
ment  store  going  up  in  town.  Concrete  suddenly  had 
come  into  prominence  as  a  building  material.  Chal 
loner  and  the  gang  stood  inside  a  wooden  mould  some 
two  or  three  feet  wide  and  as  long  as  the  wall  which 
they  were  building;  another  gang  poured  in  about 
them  a  mixture  of  sand,  cement,  and  stone.  Sand,  ce 
ment,  and  stone  meant  nothing  to  Challoner,  except 
that  when  those  three  things  were  mixed  with  water 


THE  RED  MOUSE 

and  dumped  down  into  his  trench,  he  had  to  lift  up  his 
tamper  and  pound,  pound,  pound  the  mixture  into 
solidity,  in  order  to  fill  the  crevices,  and  to  make  the 
wall  hard  and  smooth.  Meanwhile,  his  feet  were 
soaked ;  his  boots  were  caked  with  cement ;  his  hands 
were  blistered  frightfully;  and  his  face  was  burned 
by  the  sun.  Nevertheless,  Challoner  sweated,  toiled  on. 

For  days  after  this  first  day  of  labour  he  was  stiff, 
lame,  and  sore  all  over.  In  his  soul  he  wanted  to  die ; 
but  he  lived  on.  And  then,  much  to  his  amazement,  he 
found  that  the  harder  he  worked,  the  better  he  felt: 
the  poison  of  his  dissolute  living  was  working  toward 
the  surface. 

At  last  the  day  came  when  the  doctors  allowed  him  to 
visit  Miriam  in  the  hospital. 

"I've  got  a  job,  dear,"  he  whispered  to  her.  That 
was  all  he  told  her  then ;  but  those  five  words  were  a 
history  to  Miriam. 

Another  day  when  again  visiting  her  at  the  hospital, 
he  told  her  how  they  mixed  the  stuff,  how  they  made 
the  wooden  moulds,  and  about  the  crowds  that  gath 
ered  around  them,  for  the  process  was  a  new  one. 

"People  don't  believe  in  it,  don't  think  it  will  stand," 
he  said,  watching  her  closely. 

On  her  face  came  the  interested  look  that  he  so  de 
sired,  and  she  asked : — 

"Will  it,  Laurie?" 


216  THE  RED  MOUSE 

"Like  a  rock,"  he  assured  her. 

But  Challoner  was  ignorant  of  the  danger  then,  for 
he  had  not  reckoned  with  the  human  element  in  the 
character  of  construction.  All  he  knew  was  that  he 
worked  from  morning  until  night  at  the  cheapest  of  all 
cheap,  unskilled  labour. 

After  a  little  while  Miriam  put  out  a  thin  hand  and 
let  it  rest  in  his,  saying : — 

"How  much  do  they  give  you,  dear?" 

Not  without  a  suggestion  of  pride  in  his  voice,  the 
man  answered : — 

"A  dollar  and  a  half  a  day." 

A  dollar  and  a  half  a  day !  Surely  a  mere  pittance ; 
and  yet  the  woman's  face  was  radiant  with  j  oy. 

It  was  not  long  before  Challoner  found  that  his  arms 
and  back  and  shoulders  were  perceptibly  enlarging. 
At  first  it  was  merely  at  his  physical  strength  that  he 
rejoiced;  but  this,  in  turn,  soon  made  way  for  a 
greater  joy :  he  realised  that  his  soul  was  surging  back 
into  his  body ;  he  had  driven  it  out,  but  it  would  not 
stay  away. 

From  time  to  time,  Challoner  noted  that  the  tamping 
was  developing  him  too  much  on  one  side.  With  the 
long  broom  handle,  the  weight  down  at  the  end,  his 
downward  stroke  had  been  a  right-handed  one.  So 
now  he  tried  using  force  from  the  left  side.  And  with 
.that  Challoner  made  a  discovery! 


THE  RED  MOUSE  217 

After  many  experiments  it  had  been  gradually  borne 
in  upon  him  that  light  but  incessant  and  vigorous 
tamping  in  one  spot  was  more  effective  than  the  heavy, 
battering  strokes  employed  by  the  Italians.  The  stuff 
was  smooth  and  slippery  when  it  first  came  in,  and, 
consequently,  all  that  was  necessary  was  something  to 
induce  the  stones  to  slip  gently  into  solidity. 

"If  the  tampers  were  only  light  enough,"  he  argued 
to  himself,  "a  fellow  could  almost  use  two  of  them, 
one  in  each  hand." 

And  so  he  tried  it  with  the  two  tampers  that  were  on 
the  work;  but  they  proved  to  be  too  heavy.  Then, 
one  night,  he  made  a  pair  of  lighter  ones  and  experi 
mented  with  them.  It  was  too  much  of  a  strain; 
he  could  not  handle  them  satisfactorily.  Somehow, 
the  work  needed  the  concentrated  effort  of  two 
arms. 

All  one  night  he  sat  up  trying  to  figure  it  out.  "And 
yet,"  he  assured  himself  repeatedly,  "I'm  on  the  right 
track."  And  so  it  proved.  For  at  four  o'clock  in  the 
morning  the  idea  came. 

"I've  got  it !"  he  exclaimed,  jumping  to  his  feet.  "A 
pump  handle!" 

A  week  later,  Challoner  rigged  up  a  simple  con 
trivance  depending  upon  strong  leverage — one  that 
would  do  the  work  of  a  man  much  more  easily. 

"It  will  do  the  work  of  two"  he  told  himself. 


218  THE  RED  MOUSE 

But  when  Challoner  had  taken  it  to  the  works,  the 
authorities  refused  him  permission  to  use  it. 

"This  here  is  a  real  job.  We  haven't  time  to 
monkey  with  things  like  that !"  they  told  him  with  a 
sneer. 

But  Challoner  was  not  to  be  turned  aside  so  easily; 
and  still  he  persisted : — 

"It  will  do  the  work  of  two." 

Now  it  must  not  be  supposed  that  Challoner  was  of  a 
particularly  inventive  nature ;  not  a  bit  of  it.  Simply, 
he  was  a  man  of  average  intelligence,  working  at  a 
dollar  and  a  half  a  day.  His  intelligence,  however, 
was  superior  to  that  of  the  men  about  him.  Moreover, 
his  brain  was  independently  busy,  while  his  hands 
worked. 

So  now  he  rigged  himself  up  a  small  trial  mould, 
bought  some  sand  and  cement  and  rock,  and  demon 
strated  the  superiority  of  his  pump-handle  contrivance 
with  its  strong  leverage,  its  regularity  and  its  strong, 
steady  beat,  beat,  beat,  with  two  light  tampers  upon 
adjacent  spots.  When  they  knocked  off  the  mould, 
these  same  authorities  found  that  Challoner  was  right : 
this  bit  of  concrete  wall  was  as  solid  as  if  it  had  been 
cut  out  of  smooth  azoic  rock.  So  they  called  out: — 

"All  right,  Challoner— try  it  on !" 

Challoner  tried  it  on  the  big  wall.  It  worked  like  a. 
charm. 


THE  RED  MOUSE 

At  the  pay-window,  at  the  end  of  the  week  Challoner 
said : — 

"I  want  two  dollars  and  a  half — two  dollars  and  a 
half  a  day,  now." 

"What  for?"  came  from  the  voice  inside. 

Challoner  replied  firmly : — 

"Because  I've  done  the  work  of  more  than  two  men." 
The  next  day  he  was  paid  at  the  rate  of  two  dollars  a 
day. 

Now  he  was  allowed  to  have  one  of  the  corners  all  to 
himself  for  his  contrivance.  The  week  after  that  they 
laid  off  two  men:  Challoner  now  was  doing  the  work 
of  three  men.  In  fact,  from  that  time  he  and  his  ma 
chine  were  made  the  pace-makers  for  the  entire  line  of 
workmen. 

The  boss  was  jubilant. 

"Gee!  I  guess  we'll  get  this  job  done  on  time  after 
all !"  he  was  heard  to  say.  "I  thought  for  a  while  the 
old  man  was  in  for  a  few  fines  sure." 

Nobody  else  tried  Challoner's  device;  nobody  else 
knew  how  to  use  it.  In  a  way,  that  was  a  satisfaction 
to  him.  It  was  a  toy,  something  that  he  had  created 
to  lighten  his  labours.  On  the  other  hand,  he  found 
that  in  his  eagerness  he  laboured  three  times  as  hard 
as  before ;  besides,  he  was  even  better  at  the  work  than 
the  Italians  who  knew  it,  had  become  accustomed  to  it, 
and  who  were  better  fitted  for  it.  And  yet,  there  was 


220  THE  RED  MOUSE 

nothing  wonderful  in  this  contrivance  of  his.  But 
Challoner  was  convinced  that  if,  sometime,  he  could  in 
duce  the  boss  to  put  it  into  constant  operation,  it 
would  save  that  gentleman  a  great  deal  of  money. 
Nor  did  it  ever  enter  Challoner's  head  to  have  it 
patented.  Its  principle  was  that  of  the  lever,  and, 
of  course,  even  if  he  had  tried,  he  could  not  have  ob 
tained  a  patent.  In  no  way  was  there  a  dollar  in 
it. 

"But,"  he  told  himself,  "if  ever  I  go  into  this  con 
crete  business,  I  shall  insist  upon  its  use.  As  a  busi 
ness,"  he  went  on,  "what  can  be  more  profitable  than 
concrete?  It  produces  a  wall  as  solid  as  a  rock  and 
as  indestructible  as  brick.  Bricklayers  receive  five  and 
six  dollars  a  day, — and  brick  costs  money.  But  this 
sand,  cement,  stone  and  unskilled  labour  .,  ,;  .  ' 
Challoner  could  see  millions  in  it ! 

Meanwhile,  he  was  useful  at  two  and  a  half  dollars 
a  day.  As  we  have  seen,  they  had  made  him  a  pace 
maker  ;  now,  they  determined  to  put  his  brain  to  work 
for  them:  it  became  his  duty  to  direct  the  mixing- 
gang  at  his  end  of  the  new  store. 

"Don't  forget,  now,  watch  out,"  said  the  superin 
tendent,  taking  him  aside.  "So  many  barrels  of  ce 
ment,  so  many  barrels  of  sand,  and  so  much  stone. 
Now  say  it  as  I  told  you." 

And  Challoner  repeated  for  him :  so  many  barrels  of 


THE  RED  MOUSE  221 

cement,  so  many  barrels  of  sand,  and  so  much  stone. 
But  when  he  was  again  alone,  he  said  half  aloud: — 

"So,  that's  all  there  is  to  the  concrete  business !" 

Challoner  little  knew. 

The  very  first  day  that  he  watched  the  mixing  proc 
ess,  he  discovered  that  the  mixer  had  put  in  too  much 
rock  and  too  much  sand — and  too  little  cement. 

"Look  here !"  cried  Challoner,  "you've  made  a  mis 
take!  Two  more  barrels  of  cement  go  in  there — do 
you  understand?" 

But  the  mixer  merely  grinned. 

"Two  more  barrels  of  cement,  I  told  you,"  persisted 
Challoner.  The  head-superintendent  had  given  him 
his  instructions,  and  Challoner  meant  to  see  that  they 
were  properly  carried  out. 

Another  grin  from  the  mixer  was  all  the  satisfaction 
that  he  received.  Instantly,  Challoner  leaped  up  on 
the  platform  and  stood  over  the  mixer.  At  that,  the 
man  waved  his  arm ;  his  signal  brought  not  the  head- 
superintendent,  but  the  general  foreman  of  the  work, 
who  demanded  gruffly: — 

"What's  the  trouble  here?" 

Challoner  explained  in  a  few  words. 

"You  blamed  idiot !"  burst  out  the  raging  foreman. 
"You  leave  the  man  alone!  Do  you  think  that  he 
don't  know  how  to  mix  concrete?  Leave  him  alone, 
I  say!" 


THE  RED  MOUSE 

But  Challoner,  now,  was  not  a  man  to  be  so  easily 
turned  from  his  orders  ;  and  again  he  insisted : — 

"Two  more  barrels  of  cement,  I  told  you !" 

And  he  kept  on  insisting  so  strenuously,  that  a  little 
knot  of  labourers  gathered  around  them  to  await  the 
result.  Finally,  the  foreman  saw  that  the  head-super 
intendent  was  coming  toward  them  from  far  down  the 
street. 

"All  right,  then,"  he  conceded  reluctantly,  "make  it 
two  more  barrels  of  cement." 

But  that  same  afternoon,  the  foreman  singled  Chal 
loner  out  and  paid  him.  Then  he  lunged  out,  and 
striking  Challoner  on  the  shoulder  lightly,  he  ex 
claimed  : — 

"There,  you  infernal  jackass!   You're  discharged!" 

"Discharged!"  The  exclamation  fell  from  his  lips 
before  Challoner  could  check  it ;  and  notwithstanding 
his  great  disappointment,  he  made  no  further  com 
ment,  but  turned  on  his  heel  and  left.  The  next  day, 
however,  he  brought  his  case  before  the  head-superin 
tendent,  who  said: — 

"If  Perkins  discharged  you,  I  can't  help  it.  I  won't 
interfere." 

"But  what  was  I  discharged  for?" 

"Oh,  come  now!"  cried  the  superintendent;  "you 
must  know  that  you  were  discharged  for  stealing 
cement !" 


THE  RED  MOUSE 

Stunned  for  a  moment,  Challoner  said  not  a  word. 
Then  slowly  he  began  to  understand.  Graft!  Yes, 
that  was  the  solution  of  the  matter.  Cement  was 
worth  money  in  any  market ;  and  in  the  concrete  busi 
ness,  nobody  could  tell, — until  it  was  too  late, — just 
how  many  barrels  went  into  the  mixture.  With  bricks 
— there  was  no  doubt  about  bricks.  A  brick  was  good 
or  bad ;  you  could  tell  that  by  a  trowel.  But  concrete 
was  bound  to  be  a  problem  henceforth  to  the  end  of 
time. 

So  it  turned  out  that  Challoner  was  discharged  for 
doing  the  thing  the  foreman  was  guilty  of  doing.  At 
the  time  he  had  little  thought  of  resentment.  It  is  true 
that  he  might  have  "peached"  on  the  foreman,  com 
plained  to  the  head-superintendent,  and  got  them  to 
test  the  walls  with  a  testing-hammer.  But  it  was  too 
late,  besides,  he  knew  now  that  the  head-superintendent 
was  tarred  with  the  same  stick. 

After  this  incident,  Challoner  cultivated  a  habit  of 
strolling  into  the  offices  of  the  various  dealers  in  the 
city. 

"What  are  the  proper  concrete  proportions?"  was 
his  request  in  all  of  them. 

Charts  were  taken  out  and  consulted.  There  was  no 
difference  of  opinion :  all  agreed  that  the  head-super 
intendent's  figures  were  out  of  the  way,  and  by  one 
barrel  of  cement. 


THE  RED  MOUSE 

Graft !  There  was  no  doubt  about  it  in  his  mind ;  and 
he  proceeded  to  figure  out  just  where  the  trouble  lay. 
On  that  department-store  job  there  were  several 
mixers.  On  every  mixing  the  head-superintendent  made 
one  barrel  of  cement.  There  were  several  foremen.  On 
every  individual  mixing,  the  foremen,  severally,  made 
two  barrels  of  cement.  In  every  mixing  three  barrels 
of  cement  were  left  out. 

"But  what  about  the  wall?"  Challoner  asked  himself 
when  once  more  alone. 

And  so  it  came  about  that  he  found  that  in  this  busi 
ness,  of  all  businesses,  there  was  a  chance  for  an  honest 
man.  After  a  little  while,  he  found  another  job — 
still  at  two  dollars  a  day.  It  was  beginning  once  more 
at  the  bottom,  and  working  up,  yet  he  did  it.  But 
the  instant  he  had  worked  up,  he  was  again  confronted 
with  a  similar  situation.  It  was  a  question  of  "shut 
up  or  get  out !"  Gradually,  it  is  true,  the  burden  of 
the  song  of  these  men  shifted  slightly,  and  became, 
"Come  in  with  us,  or  keep  silent." 

A  few  more  experiences  of  this  sort,  and  it  was  given 
to  Challoner  to  perceive  that  he  had  knowledge  of 
these  things  in  advance  of  the  general  public.  People 
looked  upon  concrete  as  something  marvellous.  The 
agitation  among  the  construction  men,  the  news 
paper  accounts  about  its  cheapness,  together  with 
the  wonderful  results  obtained  by  its  use  in 


THE  RED  MOUSE  225 

other  cities,  all  combined  to  dazzle  owners  about  to 
build. 

From  day  to  day,  Challoner  could  see  the  demand  for 
concrete  increasing.  He  saw,  too,  that  the  price  of 
brick  was  falling  off,  because  concrete  had  awakened 
a  new  interest  in  the  minds  of  the  people,  had  aroused 
their  enthusiasm.  Plainly,  Challoner  was  excited.  He 
could  see,  could  talk  of  nothing  else.  While  Miriam 
was  in  the  hospital  he  had  begun  to  talk  concrete  with 
her;  when  she  was  convalescing  and  had  returned  to 
their  rooms, — they  had  three  now, — figuratively 
speaking,  they  had  cement  for  breakfast  and  for  sup 
per.  But  it  was  his  business  now,  and  his  whole  mind 
was  concentrated  upon  it. 

And  in  all  this  there  was  a  singular  and  valuable 
fact:  Challoner  was  the  only  man  in  town, — literally 
the  only  man,  because  of  the  circumstances  of  the 
case, — outside  of  the  contractors,  who  knew  the  busi 
ness,  and  yet  who  had  intelligence  enough  to  under 
stand  the  danger  in  concrete.  Naturally,  the  contrac 
tors  did  not  tell  owners  about  graft.  They  did  not 
warn  their  customers ;  they  took  chances ;  and  need 
less  to  say,  the  owners  themselves  did  not  know. 

Challoner  was  quick  to  seize  his  opportunity ;  besides, 
he  was  conscious  that  a  duty  rested  upon  him.  Day 
and  night  he  scanned  the  papers,  and  when  he  found 
a  concrete  contract  recorded,  he  looked  up  the  owner, 


226  THE  RED  MOUSE 

saw  him  personally  and  told  him  facts.  Of  course, 
most  of  this  was  done  at  night  and  on  holidays. 

"You  don't  say  so,"  the  owner  would  respond,  open 
ing  wide  his  eyes. 

But  Challoner  mentioned  no  names;  he  merely  out 
lined  conditions.  Some  contractors,  he  acknowledged, 
were  honest,  perhaps  most  of  them,  but  many  were 
careless.  And  then  the  foremen  on  these  jobs  unques 
tionably  were  poorly  paid.  Surely  the  temptations 
were  great. 

"You  don't  say  so,"  the  owner  would  repeat. 

And  when  the  job  started,  this  owner  would  put  a 
competent  man  on  to  oversee  it.  Frequently  it  hap 
pened  that  this  man  was  J.  L.  Challoner.  The  time 
came  when  he  made  five  dollars  a  day.  Moreover, 
the  time  came  when  many  of  the  good  concrete  walls  in 
town  owed  their  strength  to  him. 

But  even  though  his  time  was  full,  and  money  was 
plentiful,  it  did  not  interfere  with  Challoner's  interest 
in  the  evolution  of  concrete  and  concrete  graft ;  nor 
was  he  slow  to  recognise  its  value  to  politicians;  and 
so  when  the  "ring" — for  there  was  still  a  "ring"  in 
spite  of  the  efforts  of  Murgatroyd — sprang  its  little 
surprise,  Challoner  knew  what  was  coming. 

"A  new  concrete  hospital,"  said  the  "ring,"  and  saw 
in  it  the  thin  edge  of  the  wedge,  for  they  foresaw  a 
new  concrete  j  ail.  Possibly  they  could  go  still  further : 


THE  RED  MOUSE  227 

if  they  could  educate  the  people  up  to  it,  they  might 
have  more  new  concrete  city  buildings. 

However,  the  new  concrete  hospital  came  first.  It 
was  one-third  finished  when  J.  L.  Challoner  applied 
for,  and  secured  a  job  as  foreman  of  the  mixing-gang 
on  the  east  wing.  The  men  who  employed  him  did  not 
know  him ;  if  they  had,  they  would  have  dismissed  him 
at  once. 

"Great  Scott !  The  graft  in  cement  is  appalling !" 
Challoner  exclaimed  before  he  had  been  on  the  work 
twenty  minutes.  He  voiced  his  protest ;  he  would  not 
stop  voicing  it:  for  he  found  that  the  hospital  was 
being  built  chiefly  of  sand  and  broken  stone. 

And  so  it  was  that  the  superintendent  said : — 

"I'll  have  to  see  him,  boys.  We  must  have  him  in 
with  us  on  this." 

But  Challoner  could  not  be  "seen." 

The  superintendent  shook  his  head,  and  later  to  the 
contractors  he  remarked: — 

"Challoner  is  a  dangerous  man,  I'm  afraid." 

The  contractors  laughed. 

"Oh,  he'll  come  around,  all  right !"  they  assured  him. 
"They  all  do,  after  a  bit." 

But  in  this  case,  the  superintendent  happened  to  be 
right.  And  the  "ring," — the  inner  circle  of  the  polit 
ical  organisation, — descended  upon  Challoner  like  a 
thousand  of  brick. 


228  THE  RED  MOUSE 

"Come,  come,"  they  said,  "what's  your  game? 
What's  your  price?  Name  it  and  shut  up.  How  many 
barrels  of  cement  a  day?  Come,  come  now " 

Challoner  still  shook  his  head. 

"Hang  it !"  they  exclaimed ;  "he's  too  noisy." 

Then  they  reasoned  with  him ;  but  it  did  no  good. 

"It's  a  case  of  using  force,"  they  told  each  other. 
"To-morrow  night " 

But  to-morrow  night  never  came  for  Challoner.  The 
game  of  graft  had  sickened  him. 

"I  have  got  to  tell  somebody  about  this,"  he  assured 
himself.  And  then  an  inspiration  came  to  him.  "I 
know,  I'll  go  to  Murgatroyd !" 

"Murgatroyd !"  He  shuddered  as  he  repeated  the 
name,  for  the  prosecutor  had  been  connected  with  the 
thing  that  had  become  to  Challoner  and  his  wife  a 
subject  forbidden  and  unmentioned. 

But,  nevertheless,  he  went  to  Murgatroyd. 


XIV 

IT  is,  of  course,  not  given  us  to  know  what  dreams 
of  fame  were  in  Murgatroyd's  heart  when  he  deter 
mined  to  throw  down  the  gage  at  the  feet  of  Cradle- 
baugh's;  but,  at  all  events,  it  took  the  best  kind  of 
courage  and  mettle ;  and  certainly  from  the  hour  that 
he  had  sent  for  Pemmican  and  placed  him  on  the  rack 
in  a  vain  attempt  to  get  evidence,  not  to  speak  of  the 
time  when  Mrs.  Challoner  exposed  him  in  the 
court-room,  he  had  never  ceased  his  investigations 
of  the  secrets  of  the  big  gambling-house.  But  no 
sooner  had  he  come  to  the  conclusion  that  he  had  pene 
trated  the  mystery  than  he  found  himself  in  the  cen 
tre  of  a  vast  maelstrom  of  his  own  creation :  Cradle- 
baugh's  was  but  a  patch  in  a  wilderness  of  riot  and 
corruption,  an  incident  in  a  series  of  big  events ;  and 
Murgatroyd  discovered  that  he  was  battling  not  only 
with  a  single  institution,  but  with  a  huge  political 
principle — he  was  at  war  with  a  big  city. 

Another  man  might  have  been  discouraged,  for  mil 
lionaires,  large  property  owners,  reputable  tax-pay 
ers,  statesmen  of  the  highest  order,  and  even  his  best 
friends  came  to  him  and  begged  him  to  call  off  his 
crusade;  but  he  only  shook  his  head.  As  he  pro 
ceeded,  he  made  the  discovery  that  a  political  organ- 


230  THE  RED  MOUSE 

isation  is  not  an  organisation — it  is  a  man ;  that  crime 
is  personified;  and  that  corruption  is  concrete.  And 
as  the  battle  waged,  he  found  himself  constantly  seek 
ing  his  old  stamping-ground — Cradlebaugh's.  That, 
somehow,  seemed  to  be  the  keystone  of  the  edifice  that 
he  assaulted. 

Then,  one  day,  agitated,  breathless  but  triumphant, 
Mixley  and  McGrath  burst  into  the  prosecutor's 
office. 

"Chief,"  spoke  out  Mixley  joyously,  "we  followed 
your  instructions  to  the  letter."  And  beckoning  to 
his  partner,  "McGrath  and  me  has  got  the  goods !" 
McGrath  pulled  from  his  pocket  a  bulky  document 
made  up  of  depositions,  and  said: — 

"This  here  is  the  report,  sir." 

While  Murgatroyd  read  the  document,  his  subor 
dinates  stood  watching  him  with  anxious  eyes.  Long 
before  he  had  concluded  they  saw  in  his  face  the  ex 
pression  that  they  had  waited  for. 

"By  George,  you  don't  mean  it !"  exclaimed  Mur 
gatroyd,  suddenly  rising  to  his  feet  and  smiting  his 
desk  with  terrific  force. 

"You  can  bet  your  bottom  dollar  that  we  do!"  re 
turned  Mixley. 

Murgatroyd  clenched  his  teeth  with  inward  satisfac 
tion.  Presently  he  said: — 

"I've  waited  for  this  for  many  months." 


THE  RED  MOUSE  231 

After  re-reading  the  report  he  ordered  his  men  to 
go  to  Broderick  and  Thorne  with  the  request  that 
they  come  to  him  immediately. 

An  hour  later  Graham  Thorne  made  his  appearance, 
Broderick  waddling  in  after  him.  Murgatroyd 
passed  over  a  box  of  cigars. 

Broderick  lighted,  and  after  puffing  contentedly  for 
a  time,  commented: — 

"Good  cigars,  these.  Strikes  me  that  they're  your 
first  contribution  to  the  campaign  fund,  eh?"  And 
helping  himself  to  three  more  out  of  the  box,  he 
tucked  them  away  in  his  pocket  with  a  wink  at  Mur 
gatroyd,  and  asked: — 

"Any  Challoner  money  in  these?" 

Murgatroyd  smiled  grimly. 

"You  seem  ready  enough  to  burn  it,  anyhow,"  he 
answered.  And  puffing  also  on  his  cigar  he  said,  "I 
wanted  to  have  a  little  confidential  talk  with  you  gen 
tlemen." 

Broderick  nudged  Thorne  and  remarked: — 

"Perhaps  the  prosecutor's  goin'  to  diwy  with  us, 
Thorne!" 

Murgatroyd  smiled  and  laughed;  but  somehow  the 
smile  and  laugh  did  not  include  Thorne. 

"I'm  not  going  to  divvy  up,  as  you  call  it,  just  yet 
— not  just  yet,"  he  replied,  pointedly. 

Broderick  shut  his  eyes  and  digested  the  glance  and 


THE  RED  MOUSE 

the  reply.    Both  seemed  to  satisfy  him,  for  he  nodded 
genially. 

Rising  now,  and  sitting  lazily  across  one  corner 
of  his  desk,  Murgatroyd  turned  his  attention  to 
Thome. 

"I  wanted  to  have  a  talk,"  he  said  casually,  "with 
the  man  who  owns  Cradlebaugh's." 

Thome  looked  about  the  room,  then  he  inquired  in 
nocently  : — 

"He  doesn't  seem  to  have  arrived  as  yet — where  is 
he?" 

Murgatroyd  blew  a  cloud  of  smoke  toward  the  ceil 
ing,  and  answered: — 

"Oh,  yes  he  has — his  name  is  Graham  Thorne." 
Murgatroyd  could  see  the  pallor  of  Thome's  face 
turn  to  a  deeper  white;  he  could  feel  that  the  ruddi 
ness  upon  the  countenance  of  Broderick  had  deepened 
into  scarlet. 

There  was  a  pause.  After  a  moment,  Thorne  rose 
and  said  indignantly: — 

"Say  that  again!" 

"With  pleasure,"  returned  Murgatroyd,  "I  say  that 
you  are  the  hitherto  unknown  owner  of  the  most  no 
torious  gambling-house  within  the  State." 

There  was  another  pause  in  which  Thorne  looked 
at  Broderick  and  Broderick  looked  at  Thorne. 

"This  is  preposterous !"  exclaimed  Thorne. 


THE  RED  MOUSE  233 

Murgatroyd  made  no  answer.  Then  he  proceeded 
with  assertions. 

"And  with  the  earnings  of  that  gambling-house," 
he  said  evenly,  "you  have  stopped  the  mouths,  closed 
the  eyes  and  ears,  and  paralysed  the  hands  of  the 
authorities.  With  the  earnings  of  that  gambling- 
house,  you  have  bought  the  influence  of  Chairman 
Peter  Broderick,  who  lives  upon  those  earnings — 
grows  fat  upon  them." 

Broderick's  eyes  bulged;  he,  too,  rose  and  started 
toward  the  prosecutor. 

"Say,"  he  yelled,  "I'll  open  up  my  anatomy  to  you! 
Pick  out  any  ounce  o'  fat  and  tell  me  Cradlebaugh's 
put  it  there !  Come  on — my  fat  is  my  own — I  earned 
it  by  the  sweat  of  my  brow!" 

With  perfect  coolness,  Murgatroyd  continued: — 

"Thorne,  ever  since  you  sprang  into  prominence 
here,  you  have  posed  in  this  community  as  a  self-made 
man — boasted  of  carving  your  success  by  industry, 
integrity  and  brains.  And  yet — "  pointing  a  finger 
of  accusation  toward  him — "you  have  bought  every 
item  of  your  reputation,  every  iota  of  your  respecta 
bility  !"  He  stopped  for  an  instant,  and  then :  "Every 
inch  of  your  political  progress,  you've  bought  with 
this  tainted  money,  and  with  the  same  kind  of  money 
you'd  buy  the  United  States  Senatorship — if  you 
could." 


THE  RED  MOUSE 

"Lies — all  deliberate  lies  !"  Thome  e j  aculated. 

"Worse  than  slanderin'  my  fat !"  added  Peter  Brod- 
erick. 

Before  Murgatroyd  could  speak  again,  Thorne  took 
another  tack. 

"What  evidence  have  you,  I  should  like  to  know?" 
he  said ;  "you  can't  prove  these  things,  Murgatroyd." 

"That,"  returned  Murgatroyd,  "is  for  me  to  worry 
about — not  you.  I'm  going  on,  and  when  I'm 
through,  you  can  stake  your  last  dollar  that  I'll  know 
all  about  this  rotten  system  that  you  call  your  or 
ganisation — from  the  most  insignificant  ward  poli 
tician  up  to  Peter  Broderick!" 

The  accusing  forefinger  shifted  from  Thorne  to  the 
County  Chairman;  under  it  the  avoirdupois  of  that 
gentleman  seemed  to  shrivel  and  grow  less.  In 
all  his  career  no  man  had  ever  honoured  Broderick 
with  this  kind  of  talk,  and  he  wasn't  used  to  it.  All 
at  once,  he  felt  that  his  courage  was  slipping  from 
him. 

"I've  got  to  see  a  man — "  he  began,  looking  ner 
vously  at  his  watch ;  then  hunching  his  shoulders,  he 
stole  softly  and  almost  on  tiptoe  to  the  door. 

"Broderick!"  sung  out  the  prosecutor  sharply. 

Broderick  stopped,  but  did  not  look  back. 

"Broderick !"  thundered  Murgatroyd,  "I  want  you 
in  this  office  to-morrow  afternoon  at  four  o'clock — 


THE  RED  MOUSE  235 

I  want  to  have  a  talk  with  you — alone.  If  you  don't 
come,  I'll — send  for  you.  Do  you  understand?" 

Broderick  did  not  answer ;  he  opened  the  door,  and 
slipping  through  it,  disappeared. 

Murgatroyd  laughed,  and  turning  to  Thome,  he 
went  on: — 

"Thome,  I  sent  for  you  to  tell  you  to  close  up 
Cradlebaugh's — to  close  it  up  at  once.  If  you 
don't—  — " 

But  Thome's  self-possession  had  come  back,  and  he 
demanded  fearlessly : — 

"And  what  about  you,  Murgatroyd?  Are  your 
-hands  clean?" 

The  .tiger  leaped  into  Murgatroyd's  face ;  his  eyes 
flashed  fire ;  the  accuser  became  the  fighter. 

"I  can  take  care  of  myself!"  he  answered  quickly. 
"I'm  talking  about  you,  now.  You  are  sworn  as  a 
counsellor  to  uphold  the  law;  you  have  lined  your 
pockets  and  built  up  your  career  with  the  coin  of  sui 
cides,  profligates,  drunkards,  like  Challoner,  for  in 
stance. 

"Yes,"  he  went  on,  "and  there  is  something  more  be 
tween  you  and  me  than  this,  Thorne."  His  voice  now 
dropped  almost  to  a  whisper:  "You  have  the  effron 
tery  to  pay  attentions  to " 

Thorne  interrupted  him,  his  tone,  his  glance,  his 
manner  leaping  at  once  into  insolence. 


-236  THE  RED  MOUSE 

"So  that's  how  the  land  lies,  is  it?  Well,  let  me  tell 
you  something  that  possibly  you  already  know.  All 
my  life  I  have  had  the  things  I  wanted — all  my  de 
sires  have  been  fulfilled.  I  wanted  money — I  got  it. 
I  wanted  power,  social  and  political — I  got  it.  I 
have  never  stopped;  I  have  always  progressed.  You 
have  already  said  that  I  would  be  Senator  of  the 
United  States — if  I  could.  I  tell  you  that  I  shall! 
Again,  you  have  hinted  at  a  woman  who  is  worth 
while.  .  .  .  Well,  I'm  going  on  and  on  and  on,  in 
spite  of  you " 

"You  are  going  on  to  your  finish,"  returned  Mur- 
gatroyd.  "I  have  only  just  begun  with  you.  Before 
I  go  further,  it  may  be  just  as  well  for  you  to  relin 
quish  the  last  two  of  your  desires.  I  don't  demand 
it — I  advise  it." 

Thorne  glanced  uncertainly  at  the  prosecutor,  who 
had  spoken  with  complete  assurance.  Thorne  recog 
nised  the  danger.  Murgatroyd  had  been  getting  in 
dictments  lately,  and  for  every  indictment,  a  convic 
tion.  Thorne  did  not  know  what  proof  Murgatroyd 
had  in  his  possession,  and  he  knew  of  no  way  that  he 
could  find  out.  Besides,  the  people  liked  Murgatroyd. 
Thorne  believed  in  compromise,  therefore  he  extended 
his  hand. 

"Look  here,  Murgatroyd,"  he  said,  "you  know 
neither  of  us  can  afford  to  have  things  like  these 


THE  RED  MOUSE  237 

talked  about.  Don't  let  us  sling  mud — let's  fight  in 
the  open.  A  fair  fight  and  no  favour — let's  be  de 
cent." 

"Why  don't  you  get  your  ammunition  in  the  open, 
then?"  asked  the  prosecutor. 

Thorne  flared  up. 

"Why  didn't  you?" 

Murgatro}^d  smiled  and  said: — 

"You'll  find  my  ammunition  in  the  open,  Thorne,  the 
next  time  the  legislature  meets  to  choose  a  Senator !" 

Thome's  insolence  had  returned  as  he  demanded: — 

"Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  your  name  will  be  pre 
sented  in  the  caucus?" 

"That's  precisely  what  I  mean." 

"Of  course  you'll  try  to  buy  votes  with  the  Challoner 
money  you  have." 

"I'll  get  the  votes — never  fear." 

"Try  it,  then — I'll  match  you  dollar  for  dollar." 

"Not  with  dollars  coined  from  Cradlebaugh's,  nor 
from  corruptions,"  declared  Murgatroyd. 

Thome's  eyes  narrowed. 

"Murgatroyd,"  said  he,  "you  reckon  without  your 
host — no  matter  who  owns  Cradlebaugh's — or  runs  it. 
The  organisation  has  its  finger  on  every  Grand  Jury, 
every  petit  jury,  every  judge.  You  can't  accomplish 
the  impossible  until  you've  beaten  Peter  Broderick 
and  the  organisation,  and  until  you  do  this  you  can't 


THE  RED  MOUSE 

beat  me — you  can't  prove  your  assertions — your  hands 
are  tied.  The  organisation  backs  me  up." 

"If  your  name,"  retorted  Murgatroyd  deliberately, 
"is  presented  for  Senator,  it  will  be  withdrawn;  and 
mine  will  be  presented  in  its  place." 

"Who'll  present  it?"  sneered  Thorne. 

"That,"  smiled  Murgatroyd,  mysteriously,  "is  my 
business  and  not  yours.  But  inasmuch  as  you  told  me 
your  story,  Thorne,"  he  went  on,  "let  me  tell  you 
mine  now.  All  my  life  I've  struggled  like  the  devil  to 
get  the  things  I  wanted;  and  I  failed.  But  a  big 
change  is  about  to  take  place — here  and  now.  You 
stop  right  here ;  and  where  you  stop,  I  begin.  It's  my 
turn!  The  things  you  want — I  want.  Your  surest 
and  your  best  desires  are  my  desires.  If  you've  got 
them  in  your  hand,  as  you  think  you  have,  why 
then — "  he  clenched  his  hands — "I'll  take  them  away 
from  you.  The  time  has  come,  Thorne,  when  you  are 
going  to  get  the  things  that  you  don't  want, — and 
you  are  going  to  get  them  hard.  I'm  going  to  get  the 
things  you  want,  yes,  and  by  George,  I'll  get  you  too ! 
That's  all  I've " 

Murgatroyd  did  not  finish ;  Thorne  had  departed. 

The  next  day  at  four  o'clock  there  was  a  resounding 
rap  on  the  prosecutor's  private  office  door. 

"Come  in !"  said  Murgatroyd. 

The  door  opened,  and  Peter  Broderick  came  puffing 


THE  RED  MOUSE  239 

into  the  room  with  perfect  nonchalance.  He  had  had 
a  day  to  think  things  over,  and  he  had  made  up  his 
mind  that  the  outburst  of  the  prosecutor  had  been 
all  bluster.  Seizing  a  chair,  he  drew  it  up  to  the  desk 
and  sat  down,  saying : — 

"I  never  refuse  an  invitation  to  see  a  man  alone ;  and 
now  that  we  are  alone,  I  don't  mind  telling  you  that 
I'm  ready  for  another  one  of  them  good  cigars." 

The  prosecutor  passed  a  box,  from  which  Broderick 
helped  himself  to  a  cigar,  lit  it,  and  after  sending  a 
few  clouds  of  smoke  in  the  air,  went  on : — 

"Do  you  know,  Murgatroyd,  that  I  haven't  had  a 
good  chance  to  talk  to  you  since  the  Challoner  case — 
you've  been  so  blamed  offish  all  the  time.  But  now, 
here  I  am  sittin'  here  with  you, — you,  the  only  mug 
wump  in  the  town  that  I  ever  used  to  be  afraid  of, — 
and  you  know  I  can  say  any  blamed  thing  I  please  to 
you,  and  you  got  to  take  it  and  say  nothin*.  Do  you 
know  that  I'm  one  of  the  few  that  believe  the  truth 
about  that  bribe?" 

Murgatroyd  smiled. 

"In  other  words,  you  think  we're  both  in  the  same 
boat — is  that  it?" 

"Not  a  bit  of  it!"  returned  Broderick.  "I'm  in  a 
coal  barge;  you're  in  a  motor  boat.  Why,  Murga 
troyd,  there's  many  a  man  been  in  honest  politics  all 
his  life,  like  me,  for  instance,  and  who's  never  pulled 


240  THE  RED  MOUSE 

out  three  quarters  of  a  million !  Not  much !  And  out 
of  one  deal,  too!  Why,  look  at  me?"  he  went  on 
glibly,  "I've  been  in  a  lot  of  deals ;  but  that  gets  me ! 
Three  quarters  of  a  million  and  more  on  just  one 
deal !  Confound  it,  man,  do  you  know  the  most  I  ever 
made  out  of  any  one  deal?" 

Murgatroyd  lit  a  cigar,  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and 
inquired  in  an  offhand  manner : — 

"How  much?" 

Broderick  shook  his  finger  at  him. 

"Foxy,  foxy  boy !  Do  you  think  I'd  give  up  to  you 
so  easy?  This  particular  deal  I'm  tellin'  you  about, 
is  away  back  outside  the  statute  of  limitations.  You 
couldn't  get  me  on  it  if  you  would.  It  was  the  Ter- 
williger  tract — I  was  chairman  of  the  common  coun 
cil,  finance  committee,  you  remember?  Bought  the 
tract  for  twenty-five  hundred  and  sold  it  to  the  city 
for  two  hundred  and  eighty  thousand.  That's  me !" 

"Good  work!"  said  Murgatroyd,  with  genuine  ad 
miration.  "I  didn't  know  that  you  were  in  on  that." 

"In  on  it?"  snorted  Broderick.  "I  was  the  whole 
show!  That's  where  I'm  coy,  my  dear  boy;  it  takes 
Broderick  to  do  these  things ;  but  it  takes  a  bigger 
man  than  Broderick  to  find  'em  out." 

Murgatroyd  shook  his  head. 

"They  found  me  out,  all  right,"  he  said. 

Broderick  waved  his  hand,  and  answered: — 


THE  RED  MOUSE 

"Not  a  bit  of  it !  It's  all  blown  over,  and  if  it  hasn't, 
it  will.  All  they'll  remember,  after  a  while,  is  that 
you've  got  a  wad  of  money.  They'll  forget  how  you 
got  it,  and  they  won't  care."  He  puffed  away  and 
purred  contentedly. 

"You're  a  giant,"  he  went  on,  "an  intellectual  giant 
to  bag  six  figures."  Then  he  waved  his  hand  about  the 
room  and  said:  "You  take  this  old  court-house,  for 
instance ;  I  was  on  the  buildin'  committee,  but  to  save 
my  life — hold  on  a  minute — "  he  pulled  himself  up 
with  a  round  turn,  "that  was  outside  the  statute,  of 
course  it  was.  Well,  to  save  my  life  I  couldn't  pull 
more  'n  a  hundred  and  twenty-three  thousand  out  of 
it.  I  came  near  gettin'  caught,  too,"  he  admitted, 
laughing. 

"But  you  weren't,"  commented  Murgatroyd. 

"No,  sir!"  said  Broderick.  "I  don't  do  jobs  that 
way.  You  could  have  gone  through  the  thing  with 
a  microscope,  and  you  wouldn't  have  found  hair  nor 
hide  of  Broderick." 

Murgatroyd  lazily  closed  his  eyes,  and  murmured : — 

"Tell  me  about  the  new  hospital — that  little  concrete 
job." 

Broderick  leaned  forward,  his  face  growing  crimson 
as  he  did  so,  and  peered  into  the  face  of  Murga 
troyd. 

"What  are  you  gettin'  at?" 


THE  RED  MOUSE 

Murgatroyd  opened  a  drawer  within  his  desk  and 
took  out  a  bulky  batch  of  papers. 

"Broderick,"  he  said  severely,  "do  you  know  that 
I've  got  you  implicated  in  more  than  thirty  different 
violations  of  the  law  right  here  in  town?" 

"Me?"  Broderick  looked  incredulous. 

"Yes,  you !"  answered  Murgatroyd,  evenly. 

Broderick  held  out  his  hand,  and  asked  with  a  show 
of  interest : — 

"What  are  they,  anyway?" 

"See  for  yourself,"  returned  Murgatroyd ;  and  lean 
ing  back  in  his  chair  comfortably,  he  gave  himself  up 
to  watching  the  changes  in  the  countenance  of  the 
other,  who  proceeded  to  scan  the  batch  of  papers  with 
marked  interest.  And,  although  Broderick  made  no 
comments,  he  did  a  lot  of  thinking.  Finally  eyeing 
Murgatroyd  with  suspicion,  he  asked : — 

"Without  prejudice  to  anybody's  rights,  I'd  like  to 
know  how  you  got  all  this?" 

"It's  easy  when  you  know  how,"  returned  Murga 
troyd,  smiling ;  "and  I've  learned  how." 

Broderick's  face  broke  into  a  confused,  distorted 
smile. 

"Now,  without  making  any  damaging  admissions," 
he  conceded,  "do  you  know  it  would  be  blamed  un 
comfortable  for  me  if  I  were  dealing  with  any  other 
prosecutor  than  you?" 


THE  RED  MOUSE  243 

The  prosecutor  smiled  again. 

"How  do  you  know  it  won't  be  uncomfortable  for 
you  as  it  is  ?" 

Broderick  burst  into  a  laugh. 

"You  an'  me  is  two  of  a  kind — grafters  together, 
tarred  with  the  same  stick.  That's  why." 

Murgatroyd  nodded,  took  back  the  list  and  laid  it 
down. 

"That's  all  right,  Broderick,"  he  assented,  "I  didn't 
send  for  you  about  these  things.  I've  got  a  little  job 
for  you  to  do." 

"Out  with  it !"  said  Broderick. 

Murgatroyd  leaned  forward  and  told  him  in  a  low 
voice : — 

"Broderick,  I  want  to  sit  in  the  Senate  of  the  United 
States." 

Broderick  jumped  to  his  feet,  exclaiming: — 

"What!" 

"Yes,  I  want  to  sit  in  the  Senate,"  repeated  Murga 
troyd. 

Broderick  burst  into  a  peal  of  laughter  that  well- 
nigh  shook  the  building. 

"And  you  want  me  to  help  you  ?"  roared  Broderick. 

"Yes,  of  course,"  persisted  Murgatroyd. 

Once  more  Broderick  laughed  immoderately. 

"You'll  be  the  death  of  me,"  he  said,  sinking  into  his 
chair. 


244  THE  RED  MOUSE 

"You  laugh  too  soon,"  remarked  Murgatroyd. 

"Is  there  more  comin'?"  questioned  Broderick,  with 
a  howl.  "You  know  the  valvular  workings  of  my 
heart  ain't  over  strong.  You're  crazy,  man!"  he 
added ;  "the  whole  organisation  is  against  you !" 

"The  whole  organisation,"  repeated  Murgatroyd, 
"except  you." 

"You  blamed  idiot!"  roared  Broderiek.  "The  or 
ganisation's  against  you  because  I  am." 

"I've  got  to  be  the  next  Senator,"  persisted  Mur 
gatroyd  ;  "and  you've  got  to  put  me  there." 

"I  can't  put  you  there." 

Murgatroyd  cast  an  appealing  glance  at  the  other. 

"But — you  want  to,  don't  you?" 

"Indeed  I  do  not !"  returned  Broderiek,  indignantly. 

Murgatroyd  rose  to  his  feet,  saying,  as  though 
speaking  to  a  spoiled  child: — 

"I  don't  like  to  see  that  spirit;  it  looks  as  though 
you  were  opposed  to  me." 

"Have  I  ever  been  anythin*  else?"  returned  Brod 
eriek.  "Will  I  ever  be  anythin'  else?" 

Murgatroyd  continued  to  reprove  him. 

"I  prefer  to  see  a  man  do  with  a  good  grace  that 
which  he  has  to  do." 

"And  who  has  got  to  do?"  queried  Broderiek,  also 
rising. 

"I  have  just  told  you,"  went  on  Murgatroyd,  look- 


THE  RED  MOUSE  245 

ing  him  full  in  the  face,  "that  you've  got  to  put  me 
in  the  Senate." 

Instantly  Broderick  became  doggedly  belligerent. 

"I'll  spend  my  last  dollar  to  keep  you  out  of  it — I'll 
work  against  you  till  I  drop  in  my  tracks !" 

Murgatroyd  seized  a  small  thick  book  and  leafed  it 
over. 

"You'll  do  both,"  he  remarked,  "and  when  you  drop 
in  your  tracks,  Broderick,  it  will  be  with  hard  labour. 
Sit  down,  and  take  that  pencil  and  piece  of  paper — I 
want  you  to  do  some  figuring." 

Broderick,  wondering,  seated  himself;  Murgatroyd 
peered  over  the  little  book. 

"Seven  and  seven  are  fourteen,"  he  mused,  "and  six 
are  twenty,  and  eleven " 

"What  have  you  got  there?"  Broderick  asked  with 
mild  interest. 

"The  Penal  Code,"  answered  Murgatroyd,  lightly. 

"Look  under  B.  for  Bribe,"  suggested  Broderick, 
with  an  accusing  glance. 

Murgatroyd  shook  his  head. 

"I'm  just  figuring  up  the  number  of  years  you'd 
have  to  serve " 

"But  I'm  not  goin'  to  the  Senate,"  protested  the 
politician. 

"No,  but  I  am,"  retorted  the  prosecutor.  "Four 
times  six  are  twenty-four ;  besides  the  amount  of  fines 


246  THE  RED  MOUSE 

you'll  have  to  pay.  Take  the  first  on  the  list,  Brod- 
erick.  You'll  get  seven  years  on  that,  and  seven  thou 
sand  dollars  fine.  Put  that  down." 

"I'll  put  nothin'  down — I  never  was  a  hand  at  fig 
ures." 

"Then  I'll  do  it.  Twenty  indictments  for  corrupt 
ing  voters — I've  got  the  goods  on  that ;  twenty  years 
and  twenty  thousand  dollars  fines.  Hold  on  a  minute, 
we  won't  add  up  just  yet.  There's  your  interest  in 
Cradlebaugh's ;  there's  the  hospital ;  there's  your 
pool-rooms ;  log-rolling  with  police-headquarters — 
Why,  say,  Broderick,"  he  exclaimed  suddenly,  gasp 
ing  with  surprise,  "it  will  cost  you  in  the  neighbour 
hood  of  one  hundred  thousand  cash  in  fines !" 

"You  don't  say !"  sarcastically  returned  the  chair 
man. 

"And,"  continued  Murgatroyd,  suavely,  "about  one 
hundred  and  thirty-five  years  to  serve  in  sentences." 

"I'm  booked  for  a  ripe  old  age,"  returned  Broderick, 
still  with  sarcasm  in  his  voice. 

"So  that  eliminates  you  from  the  Senate,"  face 
tiously  continued  the  prosecutor;  "you'll  go  up  for 
the  rest  of  your  unnatural  life."  He  paused  and 
shot  at  Broderick  a  glance  that  went  home — one  that 
meant  business. 

Broderick  squirmed. 

"You  don't  mean  to  tell  me,   prosecutor,"  he  ex- 


THE  RED  MOUSE  247. 

claimed,  "that  you're  going  to  prosecute  me  for  these 
things?" 

The  other  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"How  can  I  help  it?" 

"You  don't  dare  prosecute  me !  You  blamed  idiot !" 
screamed  Broderick.  "If  you  do,  I'll  send  you  up 
myself — you  with  three-quarters  of  a  million  dirty 
money  in  your  clothes." 

Murgatroyd  thought  over  his  words  and  weighed 
them.  Presently,  he  said: — 

"I  would  get  out  in  five  years ;  you  would  be  there 
for  a  hundred  and  thirty  more." 

Broderick  snorted  with  rage. 

"What  are  you  driving  at,  anyway?" 

The  prosecutor  was  silent  for  a  moment,  then  he 
said : — 

"Broderick,  since  I've  been  prosecutor,  I  have 
achieved  a  reputation  for  just  three  things:  first, 
whenever  I  have  tried  to  induce  the  Grand  Jury  to 
indict,  I've  succeeded ;  second,  whenever  they  indicted, 
I  have  secured  a  verdict  of  conviction ;  third,  my  ver 
dicts  of  conviction  are  always  affirmed  upon  appeal." 
He  stood  over  Broderick,  threateningly,  and  finally 
declared : — 

"Now,  you  put  me  in  the  United  States  Senate,  or 
I'll  put  you  where  the  penal  code  provides!  What 
are  you  going  to  do  about  it?" 


248  THE  RED  MOUSE 

Broderick  swelled  with  anger. 

"Fm  going  to  call  your  bluff,  Murgatroyd!"  he 
yelled.  "You  can't  work  me !  And  you  don't  dare 
touch  me,  either!  Why,  there  ain't  a  man  in  this 
whole  State  who  dares  to  lay  a  hand  on  me!  By 
George,  I  call  your  bluff!" 

Murgatroyd  sat  at  his  desk  and  pressed  a  button; 
the  door  opened  and  two  men  entered. 

"Mixley,  McGrath,"  said  Murgatroyd,  picking  up 
some  rectangular  slips  of  paper  from  his  desk  and 
passing  them  over  to  them,  "Chairman  Peter  Broder 
ick  is  going  to  leave  this  room  inside  of  thirty  sec 
onds " 

"You  bet  I  am!"  Broderick  interposed. 

"There  are  ten  warrants  for  his  arrest,"  went  on  the 
prosecutor;  "take  him  into  custody  the  instant  he 
leaves  this  room." 

"  'Right,  Chief !"  the  men  replied  in  chorus,  and, 
facing  about,  left  the  room. 

"Now,  Broderick,"  said  Murgatroyd,  "you  called 
my  bluff — you  may  go." 

The  politician  strode  to  the  door  angrily,  bluster 
ing,  but  with  his  hand  on  the  knob,  he  paused.  A 
new  situation  was  confronting  him — a  thing  im 
minent,  concrete.  To  cross  the  threshhold  meant  a 
blow ;  Broderick  crept  back  to  Murgatroyd. 

"Do  you  mean  this,  Murgatroyd?"  he  queried. 


THE  RED  MOUSE  249 

Murgatroyd  was  busy  at  his  desk  and  did  not  look 
up  as  he  remarked: — 

"This  interview  is  over." 

Rebuffed  once  more,  Broderick  crept  to  the  door,  but 
again  he  came  back,  and  whispered  uncertainly : — 

"So  you  want  to  be  United  States  Senator,  eh? 
The  best  job  that  we've  got?"  He  hesitated  for  an 
instant  before  asking: — 

"Can  I  be  of  any  help?" 

Murgatroyd  laid  down  his  pen  and  looked  up,  smil 
ing. 

"Now  you  are  talking  sense,  Broderick.  Yes,  you 
and  Thorne  can  help  me." 

"Thorne!  Great  Scott!  I  never  thought  of  him! 
Why,  he's  the  organisation  nominee,  and  I'm  tied  up 
with  him !  Say,  honest,  Murgatroyd,  I  can't  go  back 
on  him — Murgatroyd,  you  can't  make  it — for  even  I 
can't  undo  all  that's  been  done.  Thorne  has  been 
slated  for  that  job  for  months." 

"You've  got  to  sponge  him  off  the  slate,  then,"  re 
turned  the  prosecutor. 

"I'll  be  everlastingly  confounded  if  I  do !"  returned 
Broderick. 

Murgatroyd  pressed  a  button ;  Mixley  came  in  on 
the  jump. 

"Mixley,"  began  Murgatroyd. 

"Hold  on !"  said  Broderick,  "I'll  help  you " 


250  THE  RED  MOUSE 

Murgatroyd  nodded. 

"Warmly,  energetically,  enthusiastically " 

"Oh,  all  that,"  interrupted  Broderick. 

"Mixley,"  said  the  chief,  "you  can  hold  those  war 
rants — until  after  the  next  Senatorial  election." 

Broderick  gasped ;  Mixley's  nod  as  he  left  the  room 
spoke  volumes. 

"Broderick,"  said  Murgatroyd,  looking  him  in  the 
eye,  "you  mean  business — you're  going  to  back  me 
straight?" 

"Not  because  I  want  to,  but  because  I've  got  to," 
returned  the  politician.  "It  seems  I  must  ..." 

He  paused  and  returned  Murgatroyd's  glance  sig 
nificantly.  After  a  moment,  he  said: — 

"Well,  fork  over,  then   ..." 

Murgatroyd  smiled. 

"How  much?   ..." 

"Thorne  will  spend  and  has  spent  a  lot  of  money," 
answered  Broderick;  "and  you've  got  to " 

"How  much  will  it  take?"  asked  Murgatroyd. 

"How  much  have  you  got  left?"  responded  Brod 
erick. 


XV 

ONE  afternoon,  many,  many  months  after  the  inter 
view  just  described,  a  few  keen  observers  among  the 
passengers  on  an  incoming  Southwestern  Express — 
pulling  with  final,  smooth,  exhaustive  effort  into  its 
eastern  terminal — noted  with  considerable  amusement 
that  the  pulses  of  one  of  their  number  had  quickened 
to  such  a  degree,  that  evidently  their  owner  found  it 
quite  impossible  to  resist  the  temptation  to  leave  her 
seat  and  politely  push  foward  to  the  vestibule  of  the 
car,  where  she  waited  until  the  train  came  to  a  full 
stop.  And  so  it  happened  that  Shirley  Bloodgood  led 
the  first  flight  of  men  who  were  hurrying  up  the  long 
lanes  of  the  station  toward  a  roped-off  space  where 
groups  of  people  waited  expectantly  for  relatives  and 
friends.  Not  that  Shirley  looked  forward  to  seeing 
a  familiar  face  among  them ;  on  the  contrary  she  was 
fully  aware, — since  she  had  neglected  to  telegraph  to 
any  one  the  time  of  her  arrival, — that  there  was  not 
one  chance  in  a  thousand  of  any  of  her  acquaintances 
being  there;  it  was  merely  that  she  had  fallen  under 
the  spell  of  that  subtle  spirit  of  unrest  and  haste, 
which  all  travellers,  however  phlegmatic,  recognise  the 
moment  they  breathe  the  air  of  the  metropolis.  One 
quick,  scrutinising  glance,  it  is  true,  the  girl  thre\* 


THE  RED  MOUSE 

around  and  about  her,  as  she  passed  through  the 
crowd,  but  there  was  no  disappointment  on  her  face 
as  now,  looking  neither  to  the  right  nor  to  the  left, 
she  brushed  past  what  seemed  to  her  a  hundred  cab 
bies  each  intent  on  making  her  their  legitimate  human 
prey. 

Once  clear  of  the  exit  she  turned  to  the  porter  who 
was  carrying  her  bag,  tipped  him,  and  directing  his 
attention  to  an  urchin  in  the  centre  of  a  howling 
mob  of  youthful  street  Arabs  ready  to  pounce  upon 
her  bag  the  instant  the  porter  dropped  it,  she  cried : — 

"Give  it  to  him— him !" 

It  was  a  chubby,  little,  Russian  Jew  with  red  cheeks 
and  glistening  eyes  whom  she  selected,  and,  with  a 
howl  of  disappointment,  the  other  ragamuffins  opened 
up  a  lane  to  let  the  victor  get  his  spoils,  stood  while 
Shirley  and  her  escort  marched  off,  and  then  swooped 
down  upon  another  victim. 

"Come  with  me,"  said  Shirley  to  the  boy ;  and  suit 
ing  her  pace  to  his  running  stride,  she  turned  her  face 
toward  the  west. 

As  Shirley  walked  rapidly  along,  the  even  pavement 
felt  resilient  to  her  well-shod  feet.  The  keen  air 
brought  new  vigour  into  her  face,  into  her  body,  and 
in  it — partial  stranger  as  she  was — she  detected  that 
which  the  metropolitan  never  scents :  the  salt  vapour 
of  the  sea.  Thousands  of  men  and  women  passed  her, 


THE  RED  MOUSE  259 

and  to  one  and  all,  figuratively  speaking,  she  opened 
wide  her  arms.  The  glitter  of  a  thousand  lights 
found  an  answering  sparkle  in  her  eyes. 

"There  is  nothing  in  the  world  like  it !  It  will  ever 
be  home — the  real  home  to  me!"  cried  Shirley,  half- 
aloud.  "The  noise,  the  bustle,  the  crowds,  the  life — 
Oh,  how  I  do  love  it  all !" 

For  a  considerable  time  Shirley  had  been  living  on 
the  heights  of  Arizona — a  wilderness  crowded  with 
space,  dotted  here  and  there  with  human  beings. 
Leaving  her  mother  out  there  until,  under  new  and 
altered  circumstances,  she  could  arrange  their  home 
in  the  big  city  that  belonged  to  her, — and  to-day, 
more  than  ever,  she  knew  that  she  belonged  to  the  big 
city,  that  in  truth  she  was  one  of  its  people, — she 
had  come  all  the  way  through  without  stopping,  rea 
soning  that  in  that  way  just  so  much  less  time  would 
elapse  before  she  could  return  and  fetch  her.  In  the 
West — a  land  where  men  stood  out  in  bold  relief,  be 
cause  they  were  few,  they  had  pointed  out  to  her 
rugged  specimens  noted  for  their  physical  prowess, 
their  dare-devil  recklessness  of  life.  And  viewing 
these  swaggering  heroes,  with  the  sense  of  personal 
achievement,  however  remote,  strong  upon  them,  a 
vague  longing  had  crept  into  her  inner  consciousness. 

"Oh,  if  I  were  only  a  man !"  she  had  said  to  herself. 

But  now,  as  she  swept  along  on  the  right  side  of  the 


THE  RED  MOUSE 

sidewalk,  facing  the  crowd  that  passed  her  on  the 
left,  she  knew  and  felt  that  here  was  the  place  of  the 
real  struggle,  the  battle-ground,  the  fiery  furnace  that 
men  were  tested  in.  Out  in  Arizona,  it  had  been  man 
to  man ;  but  here  in  New  York,  it  was  one  man  against 
a  million.  And  yet,  woman-like,  she  thought  that 
were  she  unsexed,  she  could  meet  this  struggle  with 
tireless  energy,  could  strike  where  men  had  failed, 
could  crowd  her  way  up,  inch  by  inch,  to  the  top.  And 
thus  communing  with  herself,  Shirley  walked  on  and 
on,  feeling  that  she  could  walk  on  forever  through 
this  rush  of  home-going-folk — people  who  had  done 
something  that  day  with  their  hands — people  who 
had  unconsciously  pushed  the  earth  another  twenty- 
four  hours  upon  his  journey. 

All  of  a  sudden  there  came  a  strong  tug  at  her  skirts 
followed  by  a  youthful  voice  that  called : — 

"Say,  lady," — setting  down  Shirley's  bag  in  mild 
protest — "youse  don't  belong  so  far  away !  Ain't  we 
got  too  far?" 

After  an  instant  of  confusion,  Shirley  conceded  the 
fact  with  a  frank  laugh. 

"What  am  I  thinking  of !"  she  cried,  "I  want  to  go 
to  the  Bellerophon." 

"This  way  then,  lady,"  returned  her  small  guide; 
and  picking  up  her  bag  he  turned  southwards. 

IAt  sight  of  the  unpretentious  hostelry,  which  re- 


THE  RED  MOUSE  255 

joiced  in  the  distinction  of  possessing  such  a  resound 
ing  name,  Shirley  was  conscious  of  a  variety  of  emo 
tions.  For  a  time,  in  the  old  days,  it  had  been  the 
fashion  to  patronise  the  Bellerophon,  and  Murgatroyd 
had  been  the  first  to  take  her  there.  On  more  than  one 
occasion  she  had  lunched  with  him  and  he  had  always 
been  most  enthusiastic  over  the  respectful  service,  the 
wonderful  cuisine  and  the  quiet  of  the  place.  It  was 
infinitely  nicer,  he  had  said,  to  have  their  luncheon 
there  than  to  go  to  any  of  the  huge,  noisy  caravan 
saries  like  the  skyscraping,  five-acre,  concrete  Mono 
lith  on  the  avenue.  And  she  had  agreed  with  him. 
Another  time,  he  had  explained  to  her  that  he  was  a 
one-club  man ;  a  man  with  few  friends ;  and  that, 
when  tired  out  after  a  long,  hard  day's  work,  he 
greatly  preferred  a  corner,  all  to  himself,  in  the  Bel 
lerophon  to  dining  with  half -formed  acquaintances  at 
the  club.  In  this,  likewise,  she  had  sympathised  thor 
oughly  with  his  point  of  view.  And  so,  not  unnat 
urally,  it  came  about  that  Shirley  had  had  little  dif 
ficulty,  on  her  long  journey  east,  in  convincing  herself 
that  it  was  merely  her  liking  for  the  Bellerophon,  and 
not  at  all  anything  more  subtle  that  had  caused  her 
to  decide  upon  this  quaint,  old  hotel  for  her  lonely 
stay  in  the  metropolis.  Besides,  Miriam  and  she  had 
often  been  there  together,  and  for  that  matter,  had 
grown  to  regard  it  as  their  own  especial  discovery. 


256  THE  RED  MOUSE 

But,  now,  when  she  had  crossed  the  portal,  when  the 
boy  had  dropped  her  bag  at  the  feet  of  the  Belle- 
rophon  porter, — charging  her  quite  double,  as  the 
price  of  her  unpardonable  absentmindedness, — a  flood 
of  memories  swept  over  her,  and  her  face  flushed  and 
she  laughed  in  an  irritated  sort  of  way  on  realising 
that  all  the  time  she  had  been  thinking  solely  of  Mur- 
gatroyd. 

Murgatroyd !  Would  the  man's  name  never  be  out  of 
her  thoughts !  For  a  time,  out  west,  it  is  true,  she  had 
been  so  engrossed  in  the  cares  and  griefs  of  her  al 
most  hermit-like  existence,  that  she  had  been  able  to 
look  back  upon  the  old  scenes  as  chapters  in  some 
pathetic  story  book ;  but  now,  the  odd,  little  prints  on 
the  walls  all  about  her,  the  slender  old  gentlemen — 
aristocrats — who  strolled  to  and  fro,  everything 
about  the  place  recalled  vividly  the  man  who,  not  so 
very  long  ago,  had  been  a  part  and  parcel  of  her  ex 
istence. 

They  showed  her  to  her  room — a  wonderfully 
old-fashioned  room  without  a  particle  of  brass 
or  glitter  in  it.  Even  the  bedstead  was  of  wood 
— a  good,  solid  invitation  to  home-like  rest  and 
slumber. 

"Get  me  an  evening  paper,  please,"  she  said  to  the 
bell-boy. 

"Which  one?"  he  asked. 


THE  RED  MOUSE  257 

"All  of  them,"  she  replied  with  a  beaming  smile ;  af 
ter  that  the  boy  was  not  long  in  bringing  them. 

In  Arizona  Shirley  had  been  reading  news  which  was, 
generally,  three,  four  days — frequently  a  week  old. 
Out  there  her  home  papers  had  straggled  in,  stale  and 
unprofitable.  But  these — of  even  date;  why,  they 
were  damp  from  the  press.  Indeed,  it  was  good  to 
have  them ! 

"Home,  home,"  she  whispered  to  herself  as  she  sank 
into  a  chair.  She  decided  that  she  would  not  dine  un 
til  much  later,  for  she  wanted  to  think,  wanted  to 
classify  the  emotions  which  had  rushed  in  upon  her  so 
suddenly.  The  easy  chair  responded  to  her  mood; 
and  with  a  sigh,  and  placing  her  hands  behind  her 
head,  she  leaned  back  contentedly,  little  knowing  that 
she  looked  wonderfully  pretty  in  that  old  room — a 
goddess  in  a  travelling  gown.  All  the  care  and  sor 
row  that  she  had  passed  through  in  these  last  months 
had  made  a  woman  of  the  girl,  had  deepened  her 
beauty.  Time  had  rounded  her  gently.  Travel- 
stained  and  feverish  with  the  glow  of  a  new  experience 
upon  her,  she  was  more  inviting,  more  human,  more 
beautiful  than  she  could  possibly  be  in  the  latest  Paris 
creation.  And  yet  one  of  the  fittest  mates  in  a  great 
metropolis  was  alone.  East  and  west,  everywhere  she 
had  wandered,  men,  great  men,  wonderful  men  had 
held  out  their  hands  to  her  beseechingly — drawn  by  a 


258  THE  RED  MOUSE 

certain  undefinable  magnetism  and  attractiveness 
which  she  possessed — a  charm  of  manner  which  few 
could  resist.  And  Shirley  had  passed  on,  and  had 
given  no  sign. 

But  now  in  the  silence  of  her  room,  her  loneliness  ap 
palled  her.  The  insistent  memories  closed  in  around 
her.  And  suddenly  she  knew  that  she  wanted  to  live 
as  other  women  lived — with  a  man  of  her  own  choos 
ing.  But  where  could  she  find  the  man  in  whom  she 
could  put  her  faith? 

After  a  while,  Shirley  picked  up  one  of  the  papers 
lying  on  the  table.  At  the  first  glance  she  started  and 
laughed  guiltily.  There  at  the  head  of  the  third 
column,  a  word,  a  name  had  caught  her  eye :  Murga- 
troyd!  Paper  after  paper  she  now  scanned,  and  all 
mentioned  his  name :  some  on  the  first  page,  others  on 
the  second ;  and  with  it  invariably  was  coupled  another 
name:  Thorne!  Finally,  she  rejected  all  but  one,  the 
Pillar, — the  most  conservative  evening  paper  in  the 
city, — and  concentrated  her  attention  upon  it.  At  a 
glance,  Shirley  could  see  that  with  all  its  conservatism, 
the  Pillar  was  holding  up  its  hands  in  reverential 
hero-worship.  In  a  two-column  article  it  reviewed 
Murgatroyd's  record  from  its  invariably  impartial 
viewpoint.  "Murgatroyd  had  been  clean,"  it  said, 
"his  reputation  was  unsullied."  It  even  referred  to 
the  Challoner  incident  as  a  pitiful  piece  of  falsehood 


THE  RED  MOUSE  259 

which  had  strengthened  Murgatroyd  in  his  position. 
Shirley  laid  down  the  paper  with  a  cry : — 

"Oh,  what  a  hypocrite  he  is!" 

So  Murgatroyd  was  still  playing  a  game !  The  root 
of  his  record  was  dishonesty !  Shirley  was  thoroughly 
sincere  in  her  indignation.  And  yet  after  a  little 
while  she  began  to  wonder  whether  his  conscience 
troubled  him — whether  it  had  cost  him  anything?  Oh, 
if  only  she  could  be  sure  of  that !  For  she  well  knew, 
and  a  little  sigh  of  shame  escaped  her,  that  if  only  he 
had  abandoned  all  pose,  shown  himself  in  true  colours, 
even  become  a  machine  politician,  she  could  have  for 
given  him  everything.  Not  a  little  distressed,  there 
fore,  she  read  on  and  on,  marvelling  at  the  Pillar's 
devotion,  but  soon  it  became  apparent  to  her  that  its 
editor  was  picturing  Murgatroyd  more  in  the  light  of 
a  losing  martyr  than  as  a  successful  saint.  For  the 
article  pointed  out  the  strength  of  the  railroads,  of 
Wall  Street,  of  the  brewers,  of  the  machine,  and  pre 
dicted  mournfully  that  Murgatroyd  was  bound  to 
fall  before  all  his  powerful  enemies,  concluding  with : 
"More  the  pity,  more  the  pity." 

Presently  she  read  the  other  papers;  all  contained 
more  or  less  adverse  criticism  of  him.  One  thing,  how 
ever,  stood  out:  fanatic  though  some  of  them  called 
him,  they  were  unanimous  as  to  his  honesty  of  purpose 
— a  man  who  could  not  be  bought,  who  could  not  be 


260  THE  RED  MOUSE 

swerved  from  the  straight  and  narrow  path.  More 
over,  in  none  of  them  was  there  any  reference  to  the 
existence  of  Challoner.  The  Challoners  had  been  for 
gotten — had  dropped  completely  out  of  sight. 

It  was  after  eight  o'clock  when  Shirley  was  reminded 
of  a  sudden  that  she  was  desperately  hungry.  Once 
in  the  dining-room,  she  directed  her  steps  to  the  small 
alcove — the  corner  which  Miriam  and  she  had  always 
occupied,  after  the  first  of  those  memorable  occa 
sions  when  she  had  lunched  there  with  Murgatroyd. 
Taking  her  place  at  the  table  with  a  sigh  of  satisfac 
tion,  Shirley  threw  a  glance  around  the  room.  Palms 
screened  her  table,  making  it  impossible  for  her  to  be 
seen,  although  it  was  perfectly  easy  for  her  to  see 
every  one  in  the  room.  There  were  few  dining  at  that 
hour,  and  so  after  ordering  her  meal,  she  was  thrown 
back  once  more  on  her  reflections — reflections  of  Mur 
gatroyd;  and  she  fell  to  wondering  in  what  way  had 
the  possession  of  almost  a  million  dollars  changed  him. 
Had  he  grown  stout  ?  Was  he  full-faced,  or  possibly 
a  bit  insolent,  overbearing  and  aggressively  genial 
with  a  wide  laugh  ?  In  any  event,  she  was  quite  posi 
tive  that  he  was  prosperous-looking — too  prosperous- 
looking;  and,  all  in  all,  it  was  anything  but  a  pleas 
ant  picture  which  she  mentally  drew  of  him. 

The  waiter  brought  the  chosen  viands  and  withdrew. 
Shirley  ate  eagerly.  The  air  of  the  city  was  full  of 


THE  RED  MOUSE  261 

life  and  body ;  it  gave  her  an  appetite.  Being  quite 
a  material  personage,  she  enjoyed  her  dinner  thor 
oughly.  Things  tasted  deliciously  to  her,  and  yet 
her  thoughts  wandered. 

"If  only  Billy  had  been  different  ..  ...  ;.  "  she  kept 
saying  to  herself. 

Suddenly  the  palms  were  parted,  and  a  fat  man  ap 
proached  her  table.  On  seeing  it  occupied,  he 
mumbled  his  surprise  and  backed  out  again.  But 
while  pushing  his  way  through  the  palms  he  extended 
a  short  arm  and  said: — 

"That  table  over  there,  then." 

The  remark  was  made  to  a  companion,  whom  as  yet 
Shirley  could  not  see.  An  answer,  however,  came  in 
a  man's  voice;  both  men  seemed  disappointed:  evi 
dently,  this  corner  was  a  favourite  with  others 
as  well  as  herself.  And  the  fat  man — his  face  was 
strangely  familiar.  Who  might  he  be?  Shirley  was 
sure  .  .  . 

Broderick.  That  was  the  man:  the  funny,  vulgar 
politician  who  had  been  pointed  out  to  her  at  the  Chal- 
loner  trial.  Shirley  wondered  what  a  man  of  his 
stamp  was  doing  in  the  quietude  of  the  Bellerophon. 
Somehow,  he  did  not  seem  to  belong  there ;  she  laughed 
silently  to  herself  as  through  the  palms  she  watched 
him  settle  himself  laboriously  at  a  table  in  another 
corner.  The  seat  he  had  taken  faced  away  from  her, 


THE  RED  MOUSE 

and  she  noted  how  broad,  how  terribly  broad  was  his 
back. 

"But  a  power  in  politics — the  real  thing !"  she  cried 
half-aloud.  It  was  not  surprising,  she  told  herself, 
that  men  of  refinement  hesitated  a  long  time  before 
going  into  politics,  if  this  were  a  type  of  the  men 
they  had  to  compete  with.  Her  thoughts  running  on 
in  this  strain,  she  determined  out  of  curiosity  to  get 
a  glimpse  of  Broderick's  companion.  It  was  not  dif 
ficult  to  get  a  good  look  at  him,  as  the  man  sat  facing 
her. 

At  the  first  glance,  Shirley  had  a  faint  suspicion  that 
likewise  she  knew  that  face ;  then  she  looked  again  and 
for  a  moment  she  was  startled.  "No,  it  can't  be  pos 
sible  that — "  At  that  instant  the  stranger  looked  up 
and  dispelled  Her  doubts.  She  was  face  to  face  with 
the  man  who  had  filled  her  thoughts  for  the  last  two 
hours. 

"And  so  that  is  Billy  Murgatroyd!"  she  murmured 
to  herself.  He  was  the  same  Murgatroyd  she  had 
known,  but  different  from  the  man  she  had  pictured. 
And  she  would  have  gone  on  indefinitely  criticising 
his  looks,  but  she  was  suddenly  interrupted  by 
the  sound  of  voices.  It  was  Broderick  talking, 
his  big  voice  filling  the  room.  Shirley  listened  at 
tentively. 

"Blamed  good  place  to  get  away  from  the  gang," 


THE  RED  MOUSE  263 

he  was  saying;  and  there  was  a  satisfied  look  on  his 
face  as  he  glanced  about  the  room. 

While  Broderick  ordered  the  dinner,  Murgatroyd 
leaned  forward  and  made  some  remark.  Instantly 
something  in  the  tone  of  his  voice,  or  it  may  have 
been  his  manner,  told  the  girl  that  the  relations  be 
tween  the  two  men  were,  in  a  degree,  confidential.  The 
back  of  Broderick  assumed  the  attitude  of  a  political 
adviser.  Shirley  observed  that  he  gesticulated  a  great 
deal  and  often  wiped  his  brow  with  a  handkerchief 
which,  even  at  a  distance,  she  could  see  was  over-em 
broidered,  but  in  none  of  his  movements  so  far  was 
there  the  slightest  suggestion  of  hostility. 

"And  this  is  the  use  that  Murgatroyd  has  made  of 
poor  Miriam's  money!"  she  cried  to  herself.  "He's 
bribing  the  enemy!" 

Shirley  bowed  her  head  in  shame. 

Presently  she  lifted  it  again,  for  before  their  dinner 
had  arrived  and  while  Broderick  talked  on,  Murga 
troyd  rose  and  walked  for  a  brief  while  up  and  down 
behind  the  table ;  and,  unseen  herself,  she  scrutinised 
him  closely. 

The  first  thing  that  her  woman's  eye  noted  was  that 
Murgatroyd  was  not  in  evening  clothes;  he  wore  a 
business  suit,  not  altogether  new,  which  to  her  think 
ing,  needed  pressing ;  it  looked  as  if  he  had  lived  in  it 
from  daybreak  to  daybreak.  He  was  no  stouter 


264.  THE  RED  MOUSE 

than  when  she  had  last  seen  him ;  if  anything  he  ap 
peared  to  have  lost  flesh,  yet  his  figure  still  retained 
its  strong  but  fine  lines.  And  Shirley  was  forced  to 
acknowledge  to  herself  that  it  had  lost  none  of  its 
grace.  But  on  his  face  was  the  dull  flush  that  results 
from  the  strain  of  enthusiasm,  of  excitement,  of  over 
work.  He  looked  fagged  out,  and  his  eyes  were  rest 
less,  though  they  glowed  with  steadiness  of  purpose. 
From  time  to  time  he  glanced  quickly  about  him, 
taking  in  every  detail  of  the  room,  studying  the  peo 
ple  in  it,  and  even  peering  through  the  palms  that 
hid  the  girl,  as  though  he  wondered  what  interloper 
had  had  the  temerity  to  rob  him  of  his  lair.  One 
thing,  however,  impressed  her  more  than  anything 
else:  his  demeanour  toward  Broderick.  There  was 
within  it  not  a  particle  of  that  confidential  concession 
that  Broderick  seemed  ever  ready  to  offer;  on  the 
contrary,  it  suggested  a  suspicious  watchfulness. 
Murgatroyd  had  every  appearance  of  being  a  zealous, 
jealous  taskmaster  who  had  set  himself  over  a  paid 
but  uncertain  servant. 

And  Broderick, — only  once  did  Broderick  turn  his 
head  so  that  Shirley  might  see  his  face ;  but  in  that 
one  instant  the  girl  divined  what  she  believed  to  be 
the  situation,  the  true  force  of  the  drama  that  was 
being  played  by  the  two  men.  Broderick's  face, 
glance,  his  whole  being,  indicated  the  cunning  of  the 


THE  RED  MOUSE  265 

man ;  he  was  treachery  personified,  at  least,  so  he  ap 
peared  to  Shirley;  and  she  told  herself,  as  she  sat 
there  and  studied  him,  that  any  one  with  half  an  eye 
could  see  that  he  was  hoodwinking  the  man  opposite 
him. 

"Murgatroyd  was  being  fooled!"  There  was  no 
doubt  about  it.  The  attitude  of  both  men  expressed 
it;  but,  more  than  anything  else,  Murgatroyd's  air 
of  feverish  endeavour,  of  expenditure  of  energy,  con 
firmed  it.  With  Miriam's  thousands  he  had  paid  for 
something  that  had  not  been  delivered.  Broderick 
had  taken  the  money — every  dollar  of  it,  of  that 
Shirley  was  thoroughly  convinced, — and  had  given 
nothing  in  return.  In  the  girl's  mind  there  was  no 
accounting  otherwise  for  Broderick's  leer ;  in  no  other 
way  was  it  possible  to  explain  the  desperate  effort 
that  Murgatroyd  seemed  to  be  making.  But,  at  last, 
the  lawyer  grew  angry;  he  hit  the  table  repeatedly 
with  his  fist  and  glared  at  Broderick.  And  the  huge 
politician  pretended  to  cower  and  tried  to  propitiate 
him. 

"Yes,  they  are  fooling  him!"  she  repeated  to  her 
self.  Miriam's  money  had  been  of  no  avail ;  Murga 
troyd  had  failed  to  accomplish  his  purpose. 

After  a  while  this  feeling  of  contempt  for  his  failure 
gave  way  to  a  wave  of  pity.  What  right  had  she  to 
judge  him  at  all;  what  manner  of  woman  was  she, 


266  THE  RED  MOUSE 

that  she  should  set  herself  up  to  determine  whether 
his  lesson  was  deservedly  bitter  or  not;  and  what 
should  be  his  punishment.  "Money  so  gotten  will 
never  do  him  any  good,"  Miriam  had  said  after  the 
scene  in  the  court-room ;  and  how  true  her  words  had 
proved !  Why,  the  papers,  even  though  they  believed 
in  his  honesty,  had  as  much  as  said  that  he  was  going 
down  to  defeat.  And  then,  in  turn,  her  feeling  of 
compassion  was  succeeded  by  one  of  gladness.  She 
was  not  a  little  surprised  to  find  herself  fervently 
wishing  that  Broderick  had  robbed  him  of  every  dol 
lar;  but,  later  on,  her  cheeks  burned  furiously  when 
an  honest  introspection  disclosed  to  her  the  real  mo 
tive  of  this  desire.  For,  after  all,  what  if  Murga- 
troyd  would  come  to  her  and  say : — 

"I  have  sinned,  and  I  have  lost ;  be  merciful  to  me, 
a  miserable  sinner." 

What  if  some  day  he  should  come  to  her  free  of  all 
hypocrisy,  stripped  of  all  save  truth,  a  beaten  man, 
what  then?  Well,  she  felt  unutterably  lonely,  she 
wanted  to  be  loved,  and  after  all,  he  had  helped  her 
friend  by  setting  her  husband  free. 


XVI 

A  FEW  days  later,  dressed  in  light  mourning,  Shirley 
Bloodgood  for  the  second  time  in  her  life  wended  her 
way  to  a  certain  tenement  house  not  far  from  the  East 
River. 

"Surely  I  cannot  be  mistaken, — this  must  be  the 
place,"  she  told  herself,  groaning  in  spirit. 

In  reply  to  her  timid  knock  and  inquiry  for  Mrs. 
Challoner,  a  little  girl  directed  her  to  the  apartment 
above,  the  door  of  which  was  presently  opened  by  a 
woman  with  full  rounded  face;  and  entering  a  neat, 
well-furnished,  five-room  flat,  Shirley  was  soon  seated 
at  the  window  chatting  with  happy  eagerness. 

The  young  woman  with  the  full,  fresh,  rounded  face, 
it  can  readily  be  imagined,  was  Miriam  Challoner. 

"You've  been  away  more  than  three  years,  Shirley," 
she  sighed,  as  she  bent  over  a  bit  of  fancy  work.  "It 
seems  a  century  almost." 

"It  hasn't  seemed  so  long  to  me,"  returned  Shirley. 
"Though  when  we  first  went  west,  I  thought  it  would 
be  nothing  short  of  a  nightmare — waiting  for  an  old 
man  to  die." 

"It  must  have  been,"  assented  Miriam. 

Shirley  held  up  her  head  proudly,  and  answered: — 

"No,  it  wasn't,  because  for  the  first  time  in  my  life 


268  THE  RED  MOUSE 

I  really  came  to  know  my  father.  I  thought  I  had 
known  him  long  before,  but  I  made  a  mistake.  I  never 
knew  him  until  these  last  three  years  in  Arizona — I 
found  out  almost  too  late." 

"I  always  liked  your  father,  Shirley,  and  I  think  he 
always  liked  me,"  was  Miriam's  remark. 

"Yes,  he  did.  But  did  you  ever  stop  to  think,"  went 
on  Shirley  hastily,  "why,  my  father  never  wronged 
anybody!  My  father  was  good — my  father  was 
honest!  Oh,  I  could  scourge  myself,"  she  declared 
sadly,  "for  the  things  I  used  to  think  about  father. 
I  even  told  Murgatroyd,  once,  that  though  I 
loved  my  father,  I  could  never  admire  him,  respect 
him." 

Miriam  raised  her  eyebrows  and  protested  mildly : — 

"You  never  told  me  that,  Shirley." 

"No!"  exclaimed  the  girl;  "my  friends  don't  know 
the  worst  side  of  me!  My  father  a  failure!  Fortu 
nately  in  these  three  years  I  have  come  to  look  upon 
things  differently — have  come  to  know  that  he  was 
a  success,  simply  because  he  was  real.  Money !  What 
is  money  ?  My  father  was  a  man !" 

Miriam  rose  suddenly  and  went  over  to  her  and 
kissed  her. 

"I'm  glad,  Shirley,"  she  said  with  feeling,  "that  you 
found  it  out.  I  knew  it  always." 

All  this  time,  Shirley  had  been  watching  with  grow- 


THE  RED  MOUSE  269 

ing  curiosity,  the  fancy  work  on  which  Miriam  sewed 
so  industriously.    At  last,  she  ventured : — 

"Miriam,  I'm  a  regular  old  maid.  I  haven't 
been  one  hour  in  your  house,  and  already  I'm  burn 
ing  up  with  curiosity  to  know  just  what  you're 
making." 

Miriam  glanced  a  moment  out  of  the  window,  then 
she  answered  somewhat  evasively: — 
"Why,  it's  just  a  bit  of  embroidery   ..." 
But  Shirley  was  not  yet  satisfied,  and  went  on  to 
protest : — 

"But  what  is  it?  Miriam,  I  must  know   ..." 
Miriam  Challoner  hesitated  for  an  instant,  then  hold 
ing  up  in  the   air  a  tiny  infant's   dress,   she  said 
softly : — 

"Well,  if  you  must  know,  why,  you  must." 
There  was  a  long  pause.  At  last,  Shirley  exclaimed : — 
"Isn't  it  dainty !    Who  is  it  for,  Miriam?" 
Miriam  raised  her  head  and  looked  squarely  into  the 
eyes  of  her  friend;  the  next  moment  Shirley  had  her 
arms  about  Miriam,  and  drawing  her  close  to  her,  she 
cried  joyfully : — 

"You  precious  thing!     I'm  so  glad,  oh,  so  glad! 
But  why  didn't  you  say  so  before?" 
Miriam  smiled  softly. 

"I'm  just  a  bit  old-fashioned,  I'm  afraid,"  she  mur 
mured.  "Nowadays,  it's  the  thing  to  make  such  an- 


270  THE  RED  MOUSE 

nouncements  through  a  megaphone  from  the  house 
tops." 

For  some  time,  she  continued  to  sew  in  silence,  Shir 
ley  watching  her  the  while.  All  of  a  sudden  Shirley 
drew  a  long  breath  and  said: — 

"Miriam,  I  wish  I  were  happily  married.  It's  the 
only  life  for  a  woman." 

"Yes,  you  are  right,"  assented  Miriam  joyously, 
from  whom  had  fled  the  recollection  of  all  but  the 
last  few  years. 

"I  have  always  taken  the  keenest  interest  in  the  ro 
mances  of  others,  but  I  want  something  more  than  a 
mere  vicarious  interest  in  romances — marriage.  I'm  a 
marrying  woman,"  declared  the  girl,  "and  I  dread  the 
thought  of  being  an  old  maid." 

Miriam  laughed. 

"And  yet  they  say  that  they're  the  happiest  wo 
men  ..." 

"Oh,  but  a  real  woman  is  one  who  has  a  husband  and 
children — "  Shirley  stretched  forth  her  arms,  as 
though  to  grasp  all  life  within  them, — "children  to 
bring  up;  to  wipe  their  noses  and  dress  them  for 
school,  and  to  hear  them  say  their  prayers  at  night. 
That's  life !  It  isn't  pride  with  me ;  it's  instinct." 
Miriam  thought  a  moment.  Finally  she  ventured: — 

"But  you've  had  chances.  There  was  Murga- 
troyd  ..." 


THE  RED  MOUSE  271 

"Murgatroyd,"  broke  in  the  girl,  "is  not  my  ideal. 
No,  indeed,  not  after  what  he  did  .  .  .  ' 

"Then,  there  was  Thorne,"  persisted  Miriam,  "and 
Thorne  may  be  United  States  Senator,  too — he's 
forged  ahead." 

Shirley  laughed  and  flushed  in  turn.  Presently,  she 
said : — 

"I'll  tell  you  a  secret,  Miriam." 

Miriam  smiled. 

"We  seem  to  be  full  of  secrets  to-day." 

"Yes,"  returned  Shirley,  "only  yours  is  a  respectable 
married  woman's  secret;  mine  mustn't  be  told  .  .  r.i 
Well,"  she  confessed  at  last,  "I've  seen  Thorne  since  I 
came  back,  and " 

"No!"    Miriam  ejaculated. 

"Yes !    He  proposed  to  me  once  more,  and " 

Miriam  leaned  forward  eagerly. 

"You  accepted  him?" 

Shirley  frowned. 

"No — if  I  had  accepted  him,  it  wouldn't  be  a 
secret." 

Miriam  looked  at  her  blankly. 

"Why  did  you  refuse  him?" 

Shirley  seemed  puzzled. 

"That's  just  what  I  want  to  know  myself.  I  don't 
know  why  ...  .  .;  Somehow,  I  couldn't  marry 
Thorne." 


272  THE  RED  MOUSE 

"Well,  for  some  unexplainable  reason,  I'm  glad  of 
that,"  assented  Miriam. 

"Tell  me  about  Murgatroyd,"  said  Shirley  suddenly, 
reseating  herself.  "I  haven't  seen  him " 

"There  isn't  much  to  tell,"  answered  Miriam.  "As 
a  reformer,  he's  been  a  success.  He's  serving  his  sec 
ond  term  as  prosecutor,  you  know.  It  seems  he  wanted 
to  finish  his  work  there." 

Shirley  tossed  her  head. 

"Who  couldn't,  with  all  that  money !" 

"He  and  Thorne,"  went  on  Miriam,  "are  rivals  for 
the  United  States  Senatorship.  Things  are  growing 
warm,  too,  I  hear ;  but  it's  only  a  question  of  a  day  or 
two  now  ..." 

Shirley  laughed,  but  her  voice  was  hard  when  she 
spoke : — 

"He  told  me  once  that  it  cost  over  half  a  million 
dollars  in  this  state  to  be  chosen  Senator.  Well,  he's 
got  the  money,  anyway " 

Miriam  raised  her  eyebrows. 

"He  told  you  that?" 

"Yes — before  he  got  the  money." 

Mrs.  Challoner  deprecated. 

"Shirley,  aren't  you  hard  on  Murgatroyd?  He's  a 
man  of  character  in  the  city,"  and  she  poised  her 
needle  in  the  air  and  glanced  at  the  girl  in  a  quizzical 
way.  "I  think,"  she  went  on  slowly,  "that  I  under- 


THE  RED  MOUSE  273 

stand  Murgatroyd.  I  think  he's  a  man  who  could  go 
wrong  once,  and  only  once." 

Shirley  shrugged  her  shoulders.  But  whatever  may 
have  been  her  opinion  to  the  contrary,  she  was  pre 
vented  from  expressing  it  by  the  sound  of  approach 
ing  footsteps  on  the  stairs. 

"Not  a  word  of  Murgatroyd,"  whispered  Miriam 
quickly. 

"It  must  be  Laurie,"  thought  the  girl  to  herself,  and 
sprang  up  like  a  frightened  hare.  The  next  moment 
the  door  opened,  and  Lawrence  Challoner  came  into 
the  room. 

Dressed  in  rough,  clean,  business  clothes,  he  was  as 
different  from  the  Challoner  of  five  years  before  as 
she  could  imagine.  This  man  was  strong,  healthy, 
with  a  ruddy  flush  upon  his  face.  He  had  the  appear 
ance  of  being  a  bit  heavier,  but  better  set  up.  He 
looked  solid,  respectable.  In  fact,  he  looked  so  good 
that  it  was  a  willing  hand  that  went  out  to  him  in 
greeting. 

"Well,  this  is  a  pleasure  that  is  a  pleasure,"  said  Shir 
ley,  smiling.  "I  need  not  ask  how  you  are,  Laurie, 
for  you're  the  picture  of  health." 

"And  you,  Shirley — why,  you  never  looked  better," 
and  he  looked  at  his  wife  for  a  confirmation  of  his 
words.  "What  have  you  been  doing  with  yourself  all 
these  years  ..."  The  tide  of  his  words  receded 


THE  RED  MOUSE 

there,  leaving  his  eyes  stranded  upon  hers.  The  same 
thought  came  simultaneously  to  them  both. 

Miriam's  happiness  at  their  spontaneous  greeting 
was  good  to  see. 

"If  I  dared,  I'd  kiss  you,"  Laurie  went  on,  laughing 
good-naturedly ;  but  he  compromised  on  his  wife,  who 
had  been  holding,  all  this  time,  the  bit  of  fancy  work 
on  which  she  sewed.  Suddenly  she  glanced  down  at  it. 

"Oh,"  she  said,  conscience  stricken,  and  running 
across  the  room,  hurriedly  thrust  it  into  a  closet. 
Challoner  watched  her  in  surprise;  and  when  she  re 
turned,  he  put  his  arm  about  her  and  kissed  her  once 
again. 

"So  much  happiness,"  commented  Shirley,  with  a 
pretty  little  pout,  "and  poor  me  ..." 

Challoner  laughed. 

"Oh,  we'll  have  to  look  after  you,  Shirley !  I've  got 
a  dozen  likely  chaps  down  at  the  works — Americans, 
too.  Real  men,  every  one  of  them — men  who  work 
with  their  hands." 

"The  works?"  Shirley  looked  in  astonishment,  first 
at  one,  and  then  the  other.  "Oh,  the  selfish  jades 
we've  been — Miriam  and  I  have  talked  about  every 
man  in  creation  but  you!  Aren't  you  ashamed,  Mir 
iam?  I  am !"  She  drew  up  her  chair,  and  settling  her 
self  back  comfortably  into  it,  turned  to  Challoner  and 
went  on  excitedly : —  "Now  tell  me  about  yourself." 


THE  RED  MOUSE  275 

"We've  saved  five  hundred  dollars,"  began  Miriam, 
answering  for  him.  "And " 

"Five  hundred  dollars!"  interrupted  Shirley,  enter 
ing  completely  into  the  spirit  of  things.  "How  did 
you  ever  do  it  ?" 

Miriam  turned  to  Challoner,  and  said  with  a  smile : — 

"Laurie,  do  you  remember  the  day  when  we  had 
saved  our  first  ten  dollars?" 

"Shall  I  ever  forget  it,"  returned  her  husband,  de 
voutly  ;  and  turning  to  Shirley :  "The  fact  is,  some 
how  or  other  I've  made  good — and  done  it  in  five 
years,  too !  But  you  don't  know  what  it  means  to  me, 
to  us  .  .  .  When  Miriam  went  to  the  hospital  that 
day,  I  started  in — one  dollar  and  a  half  a  day " 

"Yes?"  said  Shirley  eagerly.  "What  kind  of  work?" 

"Tell  her  about  your  invention,  Laurie,"  suggested 
his  young  wife  with  pride. 

Not  waiting  for  a  second  invitation,  Challoner  im 
mediately  launched  forth  on  his  favourite  topic,  Shir 
ley  listening  with  great  interest.  But  toward  the  close, 
he  said  something  about  concrete  and  frauds  which 
instantly  caused  her  to  interrupt  him. 

"Frauds?    What  frauds?" 

"Why,  where  have  you  been  that  you  haven't  seen  the 
papers?"  he  inquired.  "The  papers  the  world  over, 
almost,  have  had  something  to  say  about  this  political 
expose.  I  was  at  work  on  the  hospital  job  at  the  time, 


276  THE  RED  MOUSE 

and  it  was  I  who  made  the  discovery  that  everybody 
connected  with  the  job  was  stealing  cement:  bosses, 
superintendents,  inspectors,  politicians,  why,  even  I 
was  invited  into  the  ring.  There  was  money  in  it,"  he 
continued,  "money  for  me — hundreds,  thousands  ..." 
He  paused,  and  then  wound  up  with:  "But,  what 
good  would  that  do  me  when  the  hospital  fell  down  ?" 

"Think  what  would  have  happened,"  interposed  Mir 
iam,  "if  it  had  been  full  of  patients.  It  was  good  they 
found  it  out  in  time !  It  has  to  be  rebuilt." 

"But  I  wouldn't  stand  for  the  steal,"  Challoner  went 
on,  in  his  legitimate  pride.  "Maybe  you  know  the 
rest  ?"  He  looked  up  questioningly ;  and  convinced 
that  she  did  not,  he  proceeded:  "I  went  to  Murga- 
troyd;  he  did  the  rest.  I  helped  him,  of  course,  by 
testifying,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing ;  in  other  words, 
I  had  to  make  good  my  accusations.  But  perhaps 
Murgatroyd  didn't  smite  those  chaps  hip  and  thigh ! 
You  know  what  it  meant,  don't  you?  It  well-nigh 
smashed  the  ring!  Anyhow,  it  has  cripplied  the  or 
ganisation,  and  Murgatroyd  did  it!" 

"Good  for  Murgatroyd!"  ejaculated  Shirley;  and 
then  added  quickly  with  a  blush :  "Good  for  you!" 

"Laurie's  in  business  for  himself,"  Miriam  presently 
informed  her. 

"No!"  exclaimed  Shirley.  "Concrete?" 

"Yes,"  answered  Challoner  enthusiastically.      "I've 


I 
THE  RED  MOUSE  377 

got  a  bit  of  a  reputation  for  honesty,  now.  People 
that  want  an  honest  job  done  come  to  me.  Of  course, 
for  a  time,  the  hospital  scandal  killed  concrete  to  some 
extent  'round  here;  but  there's  going  to  be  a  quick 
recover.  The  trouble  is  not  with  concrete,  but  with 
men  ..."  Challoner  sighed  longingly.  "I  could 
swing  that  hospital  job,"  he  said  wistfully,  "if  only  I 
could  get  the  bonds  and  the  cash  with  which  to  start 
me.  But  I  suppose  I  have  got  to  stick  to  the  small 
work  for  a  while.  However,  I'm  getting  there,  Shir 
ley,  and  I'm  proud  of  it,  too.  You'll  begin  to  think 
I'm  suffering  from  exaggerated  Ego,"  he  finished 
with  a  smile. 

"Well,"  said  Miriam  in  justification,  "any  man  who 
saves  five  hundred  dollars  in  so  short  a  time  has  a 
right  to  blow  his  own  horn." 

"I  believe  in  giving  praise  where  it  is  due,"  protested 
her  husband.  "It  was  you,  my  dear,  who  saved  it." 

"I?"  returned  Miriam,  who  never  seemed  happier 
than  when  sacrificing  herself. 

"Yes,  by  not  buying  hats  like  Shirley's,  for  in 
stance,"  he  answered,  although  he  glanced  at  the  girl 
in  admiration. 

Miriam  sighed  with  joy.  It  was  good  to  be  appre 
ciated — good  to  have  some  one  to  talk  with  who  could 
appreciate  their  struggle. 

"I  won't  deny,"  presently  she  said  with  a  smile,  "that 


278  THE  RED  MOUSE 

it  was  rather  trying  at  times;  but  it  was  a  work  of 
love,  and  we've  succeeded." 

Shirley  sprang  to  her  feet. 

"Lawrence  Challoner,  I'm  going  to  kiss  you — you're 
the  kind  of  a  man  I'm  looking  for !"  And  on  the  im 
pulse  of  the  moment  she  went  over  to  him  and  made 
good  her  word.  "I'm  proud  of  you,"  she  went  on. 
"You're  the  real  thing — you're  a  success !" 

Challoner  laughed  as  now  he  drew  his  wife  closer  to 
him. 

"They  are  like  a  pair  of  doves,"  said  Shirley  to  her 
self  ;  and  then  aloud,  as  she  started  for  the  door :  "Mir 
iam,  I'm  going  to  fix  up  a  bit  for  dinner.  I 
hope  we're  going  to  have  a  dozen  courses,  for  I'm 
starved." 

When  the  door  had  closed  behind  her,  Miriam  rose 
and  started  for  the  kitchen. 

"Miriam,  girl,"  said  Challoner,  gently,  "never  mind 
about  the  dinner  now — that  can  wait." 

"I  haven't  much  to  do,  anyway,"  answered  his  wife. 

"What  have  you  been  hiding  from  me  for  the  past 
few  weeks,  Miriam?"  presently  asked  Challoner. 

She  looked  quickly  up  at  him  and  repeated : — 

"Hiding " 

He  pointed  toward  the  closet. 

"What  have  you  been  putting  away  there  every  night 
for  the  last  few  weeks?  What  is  in  that  closet  now?" 


THE  RED  MOUSE  279 

Miriam  Challoner  hesitated.  When  she  found  her 
voice,  she  asked  tremblingly: — 

"Do  you  really  want  to  know?" 

"Yes,"  he  answered  in  the  same  tone. 

Miriam  stepped  to  the  closet,  fumbled  there  among 
some  things,  and  returning  thrust  something  into  his 
hands. 

"There,"  she  said,  blushing. 

Challoner  held  it  up,  looked  at  it  a  moment,  finally 
he  said,  with  just  a  tinge  of  suspicion  in  his  voice: — 

"This  tiny  dress — what?"  He  looked  at  his  wife 
stupidly,  and  after  a  time,  he  added :  "Why,  Miriam, 
you  never  told  me.  .  ;.  .  A  little  child  for  you  and 
me?" 

"Yes,  Laurie,"  she  whispered  softly. 

Challoner  was  visibly  affected.  For  an  instant  he 
held  the  infinitesimal  garment  up  before  him ;  then  act 
ing  upon  a  sudden  impulse,  he  cuddled  it  down  into 
the  crook  of  his  arm  and  held  it  there. 

"A  child — for  me,"  he  mused,  and  suddenly  passed 
the  dress  back  to  her,  but  as  suddenly  he  held  out  his 
hands  for  it  again,  saying:  "Give  it  back  to  me!" 
After  a  moment,  he  looked  up  and  exclaimed :  "I  won 
der  if  it  is  given  to  mere  man  to  appreciate  thor 
oughly  the  anticipation  of  motherhood — the  hours 
that  are  given  to  fashioning  little  garments  like  this, 
for  instance!  And  yet  it  seems  to  me  now  that  I 


280  THE  RED  MOUSE 

could  work  forever  for — "  he  broke  off  abruptly, 
quite  overcome. 

Miriam  was  deeply  touched. 

"Never  fear,  dear,  there  will  be  plenty  of  responsi 
bility  for  you  later  on." 

At  that  moment  Shirley  poked  her  head  in  through 
the  door,  and  called: — 

"Miriam!     Miriam,  the  potatoes  are  burning!" 

Miriam  left  the  room  hastily,  leaving  her  husband 
still  nursing  the  small  garment  in  the  crook  of  his 
arm. 

"A  father  of  a  child!"  he  mused.  "It's  good  to  be 
a  father — a  good  father."  Suddenly  he  seated  him 
self  at  the  table  and  buried  his  face  in  his  arms.  For 
some  time  he  remained  thus ;  but  when  he  raised  his 
head  again  there  were  tears  in  his  eyes. 

"A  little  child  for  me — and  I  shot  Hargraves,"  he 
moaned. 

Just  then  Miriam  came  back  into  the  room.  At  a 
glance  she  realised  what  was  going  on  in  his  mind; 
and  going  over  to  him,  placed  her  hand  affectionately 
on  his  shoulder  and  with  great  tenderness  said: — 

"Don't  think  any  more  about  that,  Laurie,  it's  past 
and  gone.  You're  a  new  man,  don't  you  see?" 

"I  haven't  thought  of  it  for  five  years !"  cried  Chal- 
loner,  fiercely.  "I  haven't  dared  to  think  of  it — I 
haven't  had  time  to  think  of  it.  ... "  He  paused  a 


THE  RED  MOUSE  881 

moment  to  pull  himself  together,  and  then  suddenly 
went  on :  "But  now  I  have  got  to  think  about  it,  if 
I'm  going  to  be  a  father."  He  sighed  reminiscently. 
"Poor  Hargraves,  I  can  see  him  now,  Miriam,  as  he 
put  up  his  arm.  ..." 

"Don't,  Laurie!"  she  pleaded.  "Don't!  The  for 
bidden  subject — forget  it,  dear!" 

"I  can't  forget  it!"  he  returned.  "It's  all  before 
me  now."  He  glared  into  space,  as  a  man  might  who 
witnessed  before  his  very  eyes  some  conflict.  "I  can 
see  it  now,  just  as  it  happened " 

He  stopped  suddenly,  fiercely,  caught  her  roughly 
by  the  arm,  and  cried  in  a  loud  voice: — 

"Miriam,  Miriam,  thank  Heaven  I  have  thought 
about  it!  Listen,  dear — I  can  see  it  now — just  as  it 
happened."  He  stopped  and  looked  down  at  her. 
"Can  you  stand  it,  dear?" 

"What  is  it?"  asked  his  young  wife,  trembling  with 
the  horror  of  it  all. 

Challoner  gripped  her  arm  with  painful  force. 

"I  did  not  kill  Richard  Hargraves !"  he  cried  in  sud 
den  joy.  "No,  I  did  not  kill  him!" 

Miriam  caught  her  husband  about  the  neck  and  tried 
to  soothe  him. 

"Laurie,"  she  said  gently,  "you're  beside  yourself." 

"No,"  he  answered  calmly  enough,  though  evidently 
labouring  under  great  excitement,  "no,  I  know!  I 


282  THE  RED  MOUSE 

did  not  kill  Hargraves!  It's  the  first  time  I  have 
thought  about  it.  Five  years  ago  everything  was 
muddled — lif  e  was  a  muddle  then ;  and  on  that  night 
at  Cradlebaugh's  everything  was  hazy.  But  now, 
Miriam,  it's  as  clear  as  day.  I  can  see  it — I  do  see 
it!"  He  lifted  his  arm,  his  forefinger  crooked  sig 
nificantly,  and  declared: — 

"I  shot.    ..." 

"Yes,"  she  said  eagerly,  "you  shot   ..." 

"I  shot  at  Hargraves,  but  I  did  not  hit  him.  It's 
all  come  back ;  I  can  see  it  now !"  And  pointing  tow 
ard  the  junction  of  the  side  wall  and  the  ceiling,  he 
went  on  to  explain:  "The  bullet  lodged  in  the  panel 
of  the  wall.  Hargraves  put  up  his  arm  like  this — I 
meant  to  kill  him  and  I  shot;  but  I  didn't  hit  him. 
It  was  the  last  thing  I  remembered  before  I  toppled 
over  in  the  big  chair — that,  and  his  starting  over 
toward  the  door.  I  remember  that.  It's  all  come 
back  in  a  flash.  But  I  never  saw  him  after  that." 

"Yet,"   she  protested,  "you  confessed   ..." 

"Yes,"  he  answered,  "I  tell  you  everything  was  mud 
dled — life  was  hazy.  I  knew  I  shot  at  him — I  knew 
1  shot  to  kill.  Of  course  I  thought  that  I  had  done 
it ;  but  it's  not  so.  I  tried  to  do  it,  and  then " 

She  caught  him  wildly  about  the  body  and  cried 
hysterically : — 

"Laurie — are  you  sure   .    .   ..." 


THE  RED  MOUSE  283 

"I  know,  I  tell  you,"  he  answered,  and  hastened  to 
add: — "Yes,  and  there's  another  man  that  knows — 
Pemmican,  that's  the  chap!" 

He  stopped  again  and  looked  down  at  the  small 
dress,  which  through  all  his  excitement  he  had  held 
tenderly  in  the  crook  of  his  arm. 

"I'm  going  to  be  a  father,"  he  went  on,  "and  it's 
well  that  I  didn't  kill  Hargraves.  But  I  have  got  to 
prove  it — the  world  must  know  that  I  didn't  kill  him. 
I  must  prove  it — Pemmican  will  prove  it -for  me — 
he  was  there." 

Miriam  shook  her  head. 

"You  remember  his  testimony  at  the  trial,  Laurie; 
besides,"  she  added  softly,  taking  an  old  newspaper 
clipping  from  a  small  drawer  of  her  desk,  "Pemmican 
is  dead." 

"Dead!"  His  voice  rang  out  in  astonishment. 
"Dead !  I  didn't  know  it.  Why  didn't  you  tell  me?" 

For  answer  she  placed  her  finger  on  her  lips. 

"Why,  he  died  in  the  county  jail,  not  long 
after  I  was  tried!"  exclaimed  Challoner,  who  was 
now  reading  the  newspaper  clipping.  "Poor  chap, 
the  confinement  killed  him,  I  imagine.  Well,  I  never 
killed  Hargraves,  and  I'm  going  to  prove  it,  some 
how."  He  leaned  over  and  kissed  a  tiny  bit  of  ruffle. 
"I'm  going  to  prove  it  for  you  and  the  little 
one." 


284.  THE  RED  MOUSE 

"Laurie,"  insisted  Miriam,  quivering,  "are  you 
sure?" 

"I  was  never  surer  of  anything  in  my  life  than  this," 
replied  Challoner.  "I  tell  you,  it  has  all  come  back 
to  me  like  a  flash.  It  was  you,  little  one,"  he  said, 
bending  once  more  over  something  imaginary  in  his 
arm,  "that  brought  it  back  to  me." 

Miriam  had  watched  him  closely. 

"Yes,  yes,"  she  conceded,  "it  is  true,  I  can  see  it — ; 
I  know."  And  sobbing,  dropped  her  head  upon  his 
shoulder. 

"I've  got  to  prove  it,"  he  repeated  over  and  over 
again,  patting  her  head  affectionately. 

"But — Murgatroyd — why,  if  you  were  inno 
cent  ..."  suddenly  cried  Miriam. 

"Well?" 

"He  ought  to  know  it." 

"What  do  I  care  about  Murgatroyd!  What  do  I 
care  about  anybody  but  you  and  the  little  one  that  is 
coming — coming  to  you  and  to  me!" 

"Laurie,"  breathed  Miriam  softly,  "I'm  happy,  oh, 
so  happy !  I  knew — I  felt,  somehow,  that  things 
would  come  out  right.  I  don't  care  whether  you  ever 
prove  this — so  long  as  we  know.  Happy?"  she  re 
peated  as  she  nestled  closer  to  him.  "I  should  think 
so,  with  five  hundred  dollars  in  the  bank  and  a  small 
business,  and  after  a  while  ,.;  L..  L." 


THE  RED  MOUSE  285 

"The  most  important  thing,  now,  is  that  I'm  certain 
I  did  not  kill  Hargraves.  That  makes  it  easy  for  the 
next  important  thing — for  you — my  baby — my  little 
baby." 

Reluctantly  he  yielded  the  lilliputian  garment  to 
Miriam.  There  was  a  knock  on  the  inner  door  that 
Miriam  had  closed;  it  was  followed  by  Shirley's  en 
trance  into  the  room. 

"I  hope,"  she  said  gaily,  little  knowing  what  had 
happened,  "that  we  are  going  to  eat  pretty  soon,  for 
I  never  was  more  hungry  in  my  life." 

"The  dinner  will  be  an  hour  late,"  apologised  her 
hostess,  "but  you  won't  mind,  I'm  sure,  when  I  tell 
you  why" 


XVII 

IN  the  prosecutor's  office,  to  which  they  had  ac 
cess  at  all  hours  of  the  day,  were  Mixley  and  Mc- 
Grath,  the  latter  occupying  a  strategic  position,  in 
that  he  held  in  his  hand  the  latest  edition  of  the 
Morning  Mail. 

"How's  the  joint  ballot?"  called  Mixley  from  across 
the  room. 

"Oh,  it's  hot,  I  tell  you — both  houses  up  all  night !" 
returned  the  other  from  over  his  paper.  "The  hands 
of  the  clock  moved  back  about  ten  times,  and  still  go 
ing  it.  Still  in  session." 

Again  Mixley  called: — 

"Let's  see  the  extra !" 

McGrath  tossed  it  over  to  him.     Across  its  face,  in 
huge  letters,  appeared  the  single  significant  word : 
"DEADLOCK" 

"Oh,  but  it's  Murgatroyd  that  gives  them  the  fight !" 
exclaimed  Mixley,  with  enthusiasm. 

McGrath  smiled. 

"Sure,"  he  answered.  "He's  holdin'  'em,  but  that's 
all  he's  doin'.  But  what  of  that?  He's  got  nothin' 
to  hold  'em  on.  Why,  everybody  knows  that  he  hasn't 
any  money.  It's  my  opinion,"  declared  McGrath, 
"that  the  job  goes  to  Thome!" 


THE  RED  MOUSE  287 

Mixley  read  the  first  page  of  the  Morning  Mail  with 
care.  After  a  while  he  read: — 

"I  guess  you're  right.  Thorne  will  be  the  next 
Senator,  all  right.  Hang  the  luck!" 

"How  can  it  be  helped?"  reasoned  McGrath.  "Look 
at  them  brewers  putting  up  maybe  a  quarter  of  a 
million  to  help  Thorne  out !  I  say,  what  do  you  think 
the  votes  of  the  'wise*  assemblymen  were  quoted  at — 
on  the  market  last  night?" 

"I  don't  know.  I  wish  I  was  an  assemblyman  at 
that,"  sighed  Mixley. 

"Twenty-five  thousand  dollars  apiece,  and  a  rising 
market  growing  stronger  every  minute,"  answered 
McGrath.  "And  them  brewers  '11  pay  it,  too.  One 
fellow  wanted  fifty  thousand — an'  he'll  get  it — see  if 
he  don't." 

"I  wish  I  was  an  assemblyman,"  repeated  Mixley 
wistfully. 

"If  you  were,  and  there  was  Thorne  and  twenty-five 
thousand  on  one  side  for  you,  and  Murgatroyd  with 
out  a  dollar  on  the  other,  who  would  you  vote  for? 
Come,  now,  answer !" 

Mixley  waved  his  hand. 

"You'd  vote  for  Murgatroyd,"  yelled  McGrath, 
"you  know  you  would — you  couldn't  help  yourself." 

Mixley  sighed  again. 

"But  I  ain't  an  assemblyman,"  he  answered;  and  in 


288  THE  RED  MOUSE 

the  next  breath  he  added :  "There's  somebody  at  that 
there  door." 

McGrath  crossed  to  the  door  and  opened  it;  and 
Challoner,  Mrs.  Challoner  and  Shirley  Bloodgood 
entered. 

McGrath,  who  remembered  them  well,  and  who  knew 
Challoner  especially  well  since  the  hospital  investiga 
tion,  bowed  low,  and  announced  that  the  prosecutor 
was  out. 

Shirley  stepped  forward  and  said  determinedly: — 

"But  we  must  see  him." 

"He's  expected  any  moment,"  said  Mixley  from 
across  the  room. 

"We'll  wait,"  chorused  the  three  visitors. 

McGrath  bowed  again  and  went  back  to  his  seat  near 
the  window. 

Presently  Miriam  turned  to  Shirley,  and  said  re 
gretfully  : — 

"You  ought  not  to  have  come,  Shirley.  Perhaps 
you  had  better  not  stay." 

Shirley  looked  narrowly  at  Challoner  and  at  his  wife. 
After  a  moment  she  inquired : — 

"Don't  you  want  me  to  stay?" 

"Yes,  yes,  of  course  we  do,"  Miriam  assured  her, 
"but  you  don't  want  to  stay,  do  you?" 

"Indeed  I  do,"  was  the  girl's  quick  answer. 

"What  good  will  it  do,"  sighed  Miriam ;  but,  never- 


THE  RED  MOUSE  289 

theless,  she  found  herself  clinging  to  the  girl  as  she 
did  in  every  crisis  when  Shirley  happened  to  be  on 
hand. 

"Do  you  suppose  I'd  miss  being  in  at  the  death?" 
said  Shirley  after  a  moment. 

"At  the  death?" 

"Yes,  I  could  see  him  hanged,  drawn  and  quartered !" 
she  exclaimed,  with  mock  ferociousness. 

Meanwhile,  Mixley  and  McGrath  were  still  holding 
their  desultory  conversation  upon  the  situation  of  the 
day. 

"They  said,"  Mixley  remarked  to  the  other,  "that 
the  chief  was  politically  dead  after  he  had  black 
jacked  the  organisation ;  maybe  he  was — maybe  he  is, 
but  he  fights  all  right." 

"He  certainly  cleaned  things  up,"  admitted  Mc 
Grath,  feeling  of  his  biceps.  "We  helped  him,  eh?" 

"He  didn't  do  a  thing  to  Cradlebaugh's,"  mused 
Mixley. 

"Nor  to  the  machine,"  smiled  McGrath. 

"Well,  anyhow,"  said  Mixley,  "if  he  hasn't  got  the 
machine  and  the  brewers  and  the  twenty-five-thousand- 
dollar  assemblymen  back  of  him,  he's  got  the  people, 
all  right.  They  know  he's  honest." 

"Oh,  yes,  he's  honest,  and  they  know  it,"  assented 
the  other.  "But  hang  it !  The  people  can't  get  him 
into  the  Senate.  It  takes  more  than  the  people — it 


290  THE  RED  MOUSE 

takes  good  money  to  do  that.  At  least,"  he  added 
emphatically,  "it  always  has,  up  to  date." 

Mixley  shook  his  head. 

"If  he  only  had  half  a  million  behind  him  now  .  .  ." 

The  other  snorted. 

"It's  well  he  hasn't — well  he  never  had.  If  he  had 
half  a  million,  he  wouldn't  be  running  for  United 
States  Senator !  Just  like  as  not,  he'd  be  playin'  golf 
or  running  a  devil  wagon." 

"Gee,  what  a  scorcher  he'd  be !" 

"And  he'd  be  so  loaded  with  golf  medals,"  added  the 
other,  "that  he  couldn't  walk." 

"Well,  it's  a  man's  fight  he's  got  on  hand,  now,  and 
no  mistake — and  with  nothing  but  his  honesty  to  back 
him." 

The  three  visitors  had  been  listeners  to  this  conversa 
tion  in  silence;  but  Shirley  could  contain  herself  no 
longer;  and  turning  to  her  companions,  she  said 
sneeringly : — 

"Nothing  but  his  honesty  to  back  him!  Why, 
lynching's  too  good  for  him!" 

And  as  though  her  utterance  of  the  phrase  were  the 
prosecutor's  cue,  Murgatroyd  sauntered  into  the 
room.  He  looked  as  fresh  and  unconcerned  as  though 
he  did  not  know  that  a  bloodless  battle  was  being 
fought  for  him  down  at  the  State  Capitol — a  close 
battle,  at  that. 


THE  RED  MOUSE  291 

Challoner  rose  at  once,  and  said  nervously: — 

"Billy,  I " 

At  the  sound  of  his  name,  Murgatroyd  turned.  He 
had  not  seen  them  sitting  there,  and  now  bowed  im 
personally  to  all  three. 

"Want  to  see  me?"  he  inquired  suavely. 

"Yes,"  faltered  Challoner ;  and  with  a  quick  glance 
in  the  direction  of  the  prosecutor's  men,  he  added: 
"and  alone,  please." 

Murgatroyd  turned  to  his  men  and  queried : — 

"Anything  new?" 

Mixley  pointed  to  the  Morning  Mail  and  to  an 
unopened  telegram  upon  the  desk. 

"That,  from  the  assembly,"  he  returned. 

Murgatroyd  shook  his  head,  saying: — 

"No,  I  don't  mean  that.  I  mean  in  the  Tannenbaum 
case." 

McGrath  gasped. 

"Gee!"  he  exclaimed,  "we  was  so  excited  about  this 
here  that  we  clean  forgot  about  it." 

Murgatroyd  took  from  his  drawer  a  bundle  of 
papers  and  handed  it  to  Mixley,  saying: — 

"Look  up  that  excise  violation — right  away.  And, 
McGrath,"  he  continued,  "there  are  three  witnesses 
in  the  Tannenbaum  case  that  we've  got  to  have.  It's 
up  to  you  to  get  them.  If  you  can't  find  them  by 
two  o'clock,  let  me  know.  You  may  go." 


292  THE  RED  MOUSE 

And  now  seating  himself  at  his  desk  Murgatroyd 
turned  to  Challoner  with: — 

"Well,  Challoner,  what  can  I  do  for  you?" 

Challoner  advanced  quickly  toward  the  desk. 

"Prosecutor  Murgatroyd,"  he  began,  gulping,  "it's 
up  to  you  to  clear  me  of  that  Hargraves  affair.  I'm 
not  the  murderer  of  Hargraves !" 

Miriam  and  Shirley  had  risen,  but  they  did  not 
move;  they  hung  upon  the  prosecutor's  answer. 

Murgatroyd  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  and  returned 
calmly : — 

"I  know  it." 

"You  know  it  ?"  gasped  the  three  visitors ;  and  the 
next  moment  the  women  were  grouped  around  the 
prosecutor's  desk. 

Murgatroyd  proceeded  to  open  his  mail. 

"Yes,"  he  mused,  "I  have  known  it  for  almost  five 
years — you  must  have  known  it,  too." 

"Not  until  a  few  hours  ago,"  Challoner  quickly  in 
formed  him. 

"You  don't  say  so,"  was  Murgatroyd's  answer ;  and 
presently  he  added :  "though  perhaps  it  is  not  so  very 
surprising." 

Challoner's  eyes  narrowed;  his  pulse  was  beating 
fast.  Suddenly  he  said : — 

"But  somebody  killed  Hargraves — who  did  it?" 

The  prosecutor  looked  at  the  man  incredulously. 


THE  RED  MOUSE  293 

"Do  you  mean  to  tell  me,  that  though  you  know  now 
that  you  didn't  kill  Hargraves — that  you  don't  know 
who  did  kill  him?" 

"I'm  here  to  find  out,"  was  Challoner's  determined 
answer. 

"Why  thunderation !"  ejaculated  Murgatroyd;  and 
looking  the  other  squarely  in  the  eyes,  went  on:  "I 
knew  that  everybody  didn't  know,  but  I  thought  you 
knew  long  ago  that  it  was  Pemmican  of  Cradlebaugh's 
who  did  it." 

"Pemmican,"  repeated  Challoner,  as  if  to  himself, 
"was  the  only  man  who  knew,  and  he's  dead." 

"Yes,"  assented  Murgatroyd,  "he  killed  himself  in 
jail.  He  confessed  just  before  the  Court  of  Appeals 
filed  its  opinion  of  affirmance  in  your  case.  It  was  a 
game  on  his  part,  that  murder.  He  had  stolen  ten 
thousand  dollars  from  the  management  of  Cradle 
baugh's,  and  had  been  threatened  with  prosecution 
for  it.  It  was  necessary  for  him  to  replace  the  money. 
The  opportunity  came  and  he  seized  it.  He  knew  that 
there  was  bad  blood  between  you  and  Hargraves; 
knew  that  there  was  a  motive  on  your  part ;  knew  that 
you  shot  and  missed ;  knew  that  Hargraves  had  a  lot 
of  money  on  his  person,  and  he  set  out  to  get  it.  It 
was  safe — he  got  it,  and  Hargraves,  too — shot  him 
dead  with  another  gun, — after  you  missed  him, — 
and  paid  back  the  money  to  Cradlebaugh's." 


294  THE  RED  MOUSE 

Miriam  could  not  restrain  herself,  and  burst  out : — 

"And  you  have  known  this  for  years?" 

"Yes,"  he  told  her  quietly,  his  eyes  wandering  over 
Miriam's  face;  "but  it's  plain  to  me  now  that  you 
haven't  known  it." 

"How  should  we?"  protested  Challoner. 

Murgatroyd  frowned,  then  he  answered: — 

"How?  Because  I  advised  your  counsel,  Thorne, 
and  he  was  present  when  the  order  releasing  you  was 
signed.  It  was  his  duty,  not  mine,  to  communicate 
with  you.  I  represented  the  people ;  he  was  the  coun 
sel  for  the  defence." 

"Thorne — Thorne  knew   ..."  cried  Miriam. 

"Yes,  Thorne  knew   ..."  admitted  Murgatroyd. 

".  .  .  and  he  never  told  us,"  came  finally  from 
Challoner's  lips. 

"Possibly  he  didn't  dare,"  explained  Murgatroyd, 
with  an  enigmatical  smile.  "Just  at  that  time,  Thorne 
and  Thome's  crowd  held  the  public  in  the  hollow  of 
their  hands.  So  perhaps,"  he  added  sarcastically, 
"the  news  about  Pemmican  was  suppressed  for  the 
public  good." 

"And  you — "  spoke  up  Shirley,  her  eyes  flashing, 
but  got  no  further,  for  Murgatroyd  went  on  address 
ing  Challoner. 

"I  had  no  trouble,  then,  of  course,  in  setting  you 
free." 


THE  RED  MOUSE  295 

Challoner  blinked  stupidly  at  the  prosecutor,  but 
Miriam's  face  at  once  was  wreathed  in  smiles ;  for  she 
knew  that  their  future  happiness  was  assured — thai 
the  name  of  Challoner  would  be  cleared  of  its  stain* 

But  Shirley  was  not  yet  satisfied.  And  her  eyes  were 
blazing  as  she  exclaimed  hotly : — 

"It  was  not  you  who  set  him  free !  The  law  set  him 

free!  He  was  innocent,  and "  She  paused  and 

drew  a  deep  breath  before  going  on:  "You  took  a 
million  dollars  to  set  him  free !" 

Murgatroyd  rose  suddenly,  and  turning  to  Mrs. 
Challoner,  he  said  with  great  earnestness: — 

"This  is  the  second  time  this  charge  has  been  made 
against  me:  once  at  the  trial,  and  again  here.  You 
understand  the  nature  of  this  charge?"  he  asked  Shir 
ley,  looking  her  full  in  the  eyes.  "What  proofs  have 

you?" 

Shirley  pointed  to  Challoner's  wife,  and  answered: — 

"Mrs.  Challoner  is  my  proof." 

Murgatroyd  turned  his  gaze  now  on  Miriam,  whose 
expression  of  joy  had  not  changed,  and  asked: — 

"Mrs.  Challoner,  do  you  renew  this  charge?" 

But  before  Mrs.  Challoner  could  answer,  Shirley 
broke  in  with: — 

"Prosecutor  Murgatroyd,  a  moment  please!"  And 
on  the  prosecutor's  turning  his  gaze  on  her,  she  con 
tinued:  "You  know  I  am  speaking  the  truth!  Mrs. 


296  THE  RED  MOUSE 

Challoner  has  tried  to  convince  me  that  this  bribe  was 
not  a  crime,  inasmuch  as  you  had  kept  faith  with  her ; 
but  she  knows  as  well  as  you  do  what  my  opinion 
is  on  the  subject.  I  told  you  in  the  court-room 
what  I  thought,  and  again  on  another  occasion 
— I  have  not  changed.  No,  you  are  not  honest," 
she  concluded  mercilessly;  "you've  stolen,  you're 

a " 

She  balked  at  the  word;  the  next  moment  there 
came  a  loud  knock  upon  the  door. 

"Come  in !"  called  Murgatroyd. 

"Sorry  to  interrupt  you,  Mr.  Prosecutor,"  said  Mix- 
ley,  on  entering,  "but  Mr.  Thome  is  outside " 

Murgatroyd  shook  his  head. 

"Tell  Mr.  Thome  I'm  busy." 

But  no  sooner  had  Mixley  left  the  room  than  he  was 
back  again. 

"Counsellor  Thorne  says  that  he  must  see  you — Ee 
won't  wait." 

The  prosecutor  ordered  his  man  to  keep  him  out,  end 
ing  with: — 

"I  can't  see  him!" 

On  Mixley's  retreating,  Shirley  once  more  stepped 
forward,  and  her  lips  were  parted  to  speak  when  sud 
denly  the  door  was  thrust  open  violently  and  Thorne 
stalked  in.  Behind  him  came  Mixley,  trying  to  hold 
him  back;  but  the  other  jerked  himself  free,  and  on 


THE  RED  MOUSE  297 

reaching  the  prosecutor's  desk,  he  held  out  his  hand, 
and  called  out  loudly: — 

"SENATOR  MURGATROYD!" 

"W-what!"  exclaimed  Murgatroyd,  rising. 

"I  want  to  shake  hands  with  you.  Then  I'm  the  first 
to  announce  it?  Good!" 

And  he  proceeded  to  tell  Murgatroyd  that  the  latter 
had  just  been  chosen  on  joint  ballot,  majority  in  both 
houses,  for  the  Senatorship,  ending  with: — 

"Allow  me — allow  me  to  congratulate  you!" 

His  voice  rang  true,  even  though  he  did  not  mean  it; 
and  Murgatroyd  shook  his  hand,  saying: — 

"I  thought  it  would  be  you,  Thorne;  you  put  up  a 
good  fight." 

"We  did,  you  mean,"  protested  Thorne.  "My 
crowd  did,  as  usual.  But  you,  Murgatroyd,  deserve 
your  honours — it  was  one  man  against  the  field,  one 
man  against  illimitable  backing.  Senator,"  he  de 
clared,  bowing,  "I  take  off  my  hat  to  you !  You  have 
done  what  has  never  been  done  before,  and  you've  done 
it  without  a  dollar !  You're  the  first  man  in  the  State," 
he  went  on  frankly,  "to  be  chosen  by  the  people, 
literally  by  the  people,  and  without  a  dollar  behind 
you." 

Still  Murgatroyd  shook  his  head,  and  repeated : — 

"Thorne,  it  looked  like  you." 

"No;   and   we've   learned    something  by   all  this," 


298  THE  RED  MOUSE 

Thome  went  on ;  "we're  beginning  to  find  out  that  the 
people  worship  honesty  above  all  things. — Oh,  yes, 
I'm  honest,"  he  continued  hastily ;  "I  understand  that. 
But  you — your  honesty  is  the  real  thing — and  the 
people  know  it,  too." 

Turning  to  her  friends,  Shirley  muttered  satiri 
cally  : — 

"Honest!" 

Now  McGrath,  as  usual,  had  followed  close  on  the 
footsteps  of  Mixley;  and  standing  in  the  door,  he 
yelled : — 

"Three  cheers  for  Senator  Murgatroyd!" 

And  Mixley  and  Thome, — born  and  bred  to 
political  meetings, — gave  them  with  a  will;  while 
Shirley  and  the  Challoners  sat  in  the  corner  in  deep 
silence. 

Murgatroyd  looked  at  his  men  in  surprise. 

"Where  have  you  been  all  this  time?"  he  queried. 

"Outside,"  they  answered  sheepishly,  "waiting  for 
the  news." 

Murgatroyd  strode  down  upon  them  and  thundered 
out: — 

"You  get  that  evidence  and  have  it  here  by  two 
o'clock." 

The  men  piled  out  in  confusion.  A  moment  later, 
Thome  took  up  his  hat,  and  holding  out  his  hand, 
repeated: — 


THE  RED  MOUSE  299 

"Accept  my  congratulations  once  more,  Senator!" 
He  turned  to  go,  and  then  for  the  first  time  he  saw 
the  three  people  huddled  together  in  the  corner  of  the 
room.  "Well,"  he  suddenly  exclaimed,  "I  thought 
we  were  alone.  I  didn't  know  ..." 

Challoner  stepped  out  in  front  of  him,  and  blurted 
out: — 

"Mr.  Thorne,  I  wish  to  know  if  it  is  true " 

Thorne,  still  not  seeing  who  it  was,  nodded. 

"Yes,"  he  said  in  reply,  "the  prosecutor  has  been 
chosen — I'm  down  and  out." 

"You  don't  understand,"  returned  Challoner;  "is  it 
true,  true " 

"True?"  repeated  Thorne. 

"True  that  you  have  known  all  these  years  that  I 
was  innocent  of  murder?"  And  Challoner  squared  his 
shoulders  and  lifted  his  head  while  he  waited  for  his 
reply. 

"Yes,  of  course  it's  true,"  answered  Thorne,  seeing, 
at  last,  whom  he  faced. 

"You  never  told  me,"  fiercely  returned  Challoner. 
Thorne  apparently  was  dumbfounded. 

"Never  told  you?  Why  I  must  have  told  you,"  he 
stammered  feebly. 

"You  never — "  Challoner's  voice  suddenly  broke. 
"And  I  thought  all  these  years — and  because  I 
thought " 


300  THE  RED  MOUSE 

He  paused  abruptly.  Then  Thorne,  turning  to 
Murgatroyd,  boldly  equivocated: 

"It's  preposterous !     Of  course  I  told  him   ..." 

Murgatroyd  smiled  grimly,  and  added  gently  to  him 
self:— 

"Never  .,  .   ,.   'till  now." 

Thorne  now  waved  Challoner  aside,  saying : — 

"You  must  be  mistaken,  Mr.  Challoner;  I  certainly 
told  you — "  And  picking  up  his  hat,  once  more  turned 
his  attention  to  the  prosecutor. 

"Well,  Senator,  good-day!"  At  the  door,  he  called 
back :  "You've  made  a  clean  and  honest  fight — you  de 
serve  success!  Good-day!" 

But  no  sooner  had  the  words  passed  his  lips,  than 
Shirley,  almost  beside  herself,  again  broke  forth : — 

"A  clean,  honest  fight !    Oh !" 

Murgatroyd  resumed  his  seat,  smiling. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  as  if  wholly  unconscious  of  the  girl's 
irony,  "it  is  hard  work  to  be  chosen  Senator  without 
half  a  millon  or  so  behind  you." 

Up  to  this  time,  Shirley  had  held  her  indignation 
within  bounds ;  but  at  this  remark,  she  lost  all  con 
trol  over  herself. 

"Why  you — you're  a  thief!"  she  cried. 

Instantly,  Mrs.  Challoner  stepped  forward,  and 
raising  a  reproving  hand,  she  said  with  great  deter 
mination: — 


THE  RED  MOUSE  301 

"No,  no,  Shirley,  I  won't  have  you  say  such  things ! 
You  must  leave  the  room !  You  and  Laurie — I  insist 
upon  it !" 

Such  an  outburst  from  Miriam  was  so  unusual  that 
for  a  moment  both  Shirley  and  Challoner  were  taken 
aback.  It  was  clear  that  unknown  to  them,  Miriam 
had  made  up  her  mind  to  some  course  of  action ; 
in  fact,  so  completely  had  she  taken  the  situation 
in  hand,  that  it  was  easy  to  imagine  that  she  had 
forgotten  that  she  was  in  the  prosecutor's  office  and 
not  in  her  own  home. 

Fierce  anger  burned  in  Shirley's  impulsive  heart,  as 
glancing  at  Murgatroyd,  she  perceived  that  he  was 
as  impassive  as  ever,  apparently  taking  little  interest 
in  the  scene  that  was  being  enacted  before  him.  A  few 
moments  elapsed  before  she  could  bring  herself  to 
agree  to  Miriam's  demand. 

"Very  well,"  assented  Shirley,  "we'll  wait  outside, 
but  don't  keep  us  waiting  long."  And,  as  reluctantly 
she  left  the  room  with  Challoner,  she  said  in  a  loud 
whisper  so  that  Murgatroyd  could  hear  it :  "What  on 
earth  can  Miriam  want  to  see  him  alone  for?" 

For  answer,  Challoner  merely  shook  his  head. 

Left  alone  with  the  prosecutor,  Miriam  asked  per 
mission  to  lock  the  door;  and  although  surprised  at 
such  a  request,  Murgatroyd  went  over  to  the  door  and 
locked  it.  Then,  motioning  politely  for  her  to  be 


303  THE  RED  MOUSE 

seated,  he  took  a  chair  opposite  to  hers  and  asked 
severely : — 

"Mrs.  Challoner,  what  do  you  mean  by  this  ?  Do  you 
recall  the  compact  made  nearly  six  years  ago?" 

"Yes,  yes,"  she  answered,  in  a  manner  that  showed 
plainly  her  desire  to  conciliate  him. 

"Your  husband  went  free,"  Murgatroyd  continued, 
"and  when  we  made  our  compact,  we  did  not  know 
whether  he  was  innocent  or  not,  whether  it  was  within 
the  power  of  the  law  to  hold  him  or  to  free  him.  But 
I  kept  my  part  of  the  compact  in  good  faith — inno 
cent  or  guilty,  he  finally  went  free." 

"Yes,  yes,  I  know,"  she  returned  eagerly. 

"Your  part  of  the  compact  was  silence, — you  prom 
ised  to  keep  silent, — and  yet,  twice  in  this  building 
you  have  broken  your  word,  and  Heaven  knows  how 
many  times  outside,"  he  concluded  solemnly. 

"Yes,  yes,"  she  answered  contritely,  "I  know.  Don't 
think  for  a  moment  that  I  have  any  fault  to  find  with 
you,  Mr.  Murgatroyd.  None,  whatever.  I  have  al 
ways  upheld  you,  always  believed  in  you,  I  believe  in 
you  now  ..." 

"That's  more  than  Shirley  does,"  and  Murgatroyd 
smiled  grimly,  "for  I  heard  her  say  that  she  would 
like  to  lynch  me — she  would,  if  you  would  let  her,"  be 
added  lightly. 

"But  she  doesn't  understand,  Mr.  Murgatroyd.  She 


THE  RED  MOUSE  303 

is  frightfully  impulsive;  you  must  not  take  her  so 
seriously.  Besides,  what  can  a  mere  girl  know  of  the 
troubles  of — "  She  paused  for  a  brief  moment ;  and 
continuing,  said  in  a  changed  tone:  "But  Fm  glad, 
very  glad  that  my  money  could  help  to  put  the  right 
man  in  the  right  place,  glad  that  my  money  has  done 
so  much  good  at  last.  Yes,  I  was  wrong  to 
speak " 

All  the  while  she  had  been  talking,  Murgatroyd  eyed 
her  strangely. 

"What  do  you  want  of  me?"  he  broke  in  sud 
denly. 

"Yes,  yes,  I  must  get  to  the  point,"  she  answered 
timidly,  and  then  looked  up  at  him  as  if  searching  for 
some  expression  on  his  face  which  would  help  her  to 
go  on ;  but  she  saw  there  only  impatience,  and  it  was 
with  some  trepidation  that  she  proceeded :  "Of  course 
you  know  how  splendidly  Lawrence  has  done  these 
last  five  years — what  a  man  he  has  made  of  himself? 
Why  certainly  you  know,  because  he  helped  you  with 
that  concrete  affair,  and — "  She  paused  to  see  the 
effect  of  her  words ;  but  again  they  had  been  received 
with  apparent  indifference.  Nevertheless,  she  said 
proudly :  "Lawrence  has  gone  in  business  for  himself. 
Yes,"  she  added  quickly,  nervously  tapping  the  desk 
before  her  with  her  fingers,  "and  Lawrence  can  get 
that  hospital  job.  He  wants  it — wants  it  badly,  for 


304«  THE  RED  MOUSE 

he  knows  he  would  do  it  right.  Mr.  Murgatroyd,  it 
would  be  the  making  of  his  business " 

She  paused,  while  her  mind  struggled  helplessly  to 
find  the  fitting  words  with  which  to  frame  the  difficult 
request  that  was  to  come. 

"Lawrence  needs  a  bondsman  to  get  that  job — a 
man  with  one  hundred  thousand  dollars  to  go  on  his 
bond.  And  you  know  it  is  very  hard,  particularly 
hard  for  him  to  find  a  man  who  is  worth  that  much  to 
go  on  his  bond — a  bond  that  he'll  do  the  work,  and 
do  it  right.  Oh,  Mr.  Murgatroyd,  would  it  be  asking 
too  much  of  you  to " 

Murgatroyd  rose  and  gazed  at  her  steadily. 

"And  you  are  asking  me  to  go  on  a  hundred-thou 
sand-dollar  bond  for  your  husband?" 

The  tone  of  his  voice  told  Miriam  what  she  had  to 
expect,  and  her  heart  grew  chill,  but  she  braced  her 
self  to  go  on: — 

"Yes,"  she  answered ;  and  her  voice  was  very  gentle 
and  very  winning  as  she  proceeded :  "And  if  he  could 
get  a  little  money,  just  a  little  to  buy  materials.  We 
have  saved  five  hundred  dollars,  but  that  will  not  go 
far.  Oh,  he  has  worked  so  hard,  and  I  don't  want 
him  to  get  discouraged !  He  wouldn't  ask  these  things 
for  himself —  No,  indeed!  You'll  go  on  his  bond, 
won't  you?"  she  asked  with  a  wan  smile.  "And  loan 
him  a  few  thousand  dollars  to  start  the  job?" 


THE  RED  MOUSE  305 

There  was  a  long  silence ;  finally  Murgatroyd  spoke 
in  an  even  voice: — 

"You  want  me  to  go  on  his  bond  and  loan  him  some 
thousands  of  dollars,  too?" 

Mrs.  Challoner  inclined  her  head. 

"Why,  Mrs.  Challoner,"  Murgatroyd  exclaimed, 
holding  up  his  hands  in  amazement,  "I  haven't  got 
the  money !  I  couldn't  go  on  a  bond  for  a  hundred 
thousand  dollars ;  and  as  for  lending  him  money ! 
Well  ..." 

To  Mrs.  Challoner,  the  prosecutor  in  refusing  was 
acting  merely  within  his  rights.  However,  her  fem 
inine  instinct  had  made  her  conscious  of  some  inde 
finable  change  in  him ;  so  she  persisted : — 

"If  only  you  could — " 

Miriam  ceased  abruptly  and  watched  him  as  he 
sprang  to  his  feet  and  for  a  long  time  paced  up  and 
down  the  room,  gazing  at  her  face  each  time  he  passed 
her.  After  a  while,  he  came  and  stood  over  her,  ap 
parently  trying  to  make  up  his  mind  whether  or  not 
to  take  a  certain  course  of  action.  Finally  he  said 
with  great  feeling: — 

"Mrs.  Challoner,  you  are  the  bravest  woman  I  have 
ever  known.  Yes,  perhaps  I  can  arrange  it  for  you. 
But  first,  won't  you  please  call  Lawrence — call  them 
both  back." 


XVIII 

MEANWHILE,  outside  in  the  waiting-room,  Lawrence 
Challoner  walked  dismally  to  and  fro.  For,  notwith 
standing,  that  in  the  last  hour  a  great  joy  had  come 
to  him,  this  room  had  awakened  memories  of  that 
other  occasion,  when,  likewise,  waiting  for  Murga- 
troyd,  his  life  had  hung  in  the  balance.  A  wave  of 
pity  took  possession  of  him — pity  for  himself  for  his 
then  mistaken  views  of  life,  pity  for  the  little  wife, 
who  had  stood  so  nobly  by  him ;  and,  suddenly,  he 
quickened  his  steps,  as  if  impatient  for  the  time  to 
come  when  he  could  make  amends  for  the  great  wrong 
he  had  done  her.  In  a  measure,  entering  into  his 
thoughts,  though  her  own  were  somewhat  complex, 
Shirley  Bloodgood,  from  where  she  sat  in  a  far  corner 
of  the  room,  also  waited  nervously  for  the  door  to 
open.  And  it  was  thus  that  Miriam  Challoner  came 
upon  them,  her  eyes  glistening,  a  happy  smile  on  her 
face. 

"Laurie,  Shirley,"  she  stammered,  "Mr.  Murga- 
troyd  says — no,  come,  he'll  tell  you  himself."  And 
taking  their  willing  hands  into  hers,  she  led  them 
back  into  the  prosecutor's  private  office,  from  which 
they  had  been  so  unceremoniously  evicted  a  little  while 
before. 


THE  RED  MOUSE  307 

Miriam  Challoner's  intimation  that  good  news  would 
be  forthcoming  was  indeed  rather  vague ;  nevertheless, 
unconsciously,  both  were  affected  by  her  mood,  and 
came  into  the  room,  smiling.  Perhaps  it  affected 
Murgatroyd,  too,  for  it  was  with  his  most 
genial  manner  that  the  hitherto  imperturbable 
prosecutor,  from  where  he  sat  on  the  edge  of  the 
table,  his  arms  folded,  singled  out  Shirley,  and 
said : — 

"Ready  for  the  lynching,  Miss  Bloodgood?" 

A  look  of  surprise  crossed  Shirley's  features,  but 
she  scorned  to  answer. 

Murgatroyd  was  now  standing,  his  back  still  to  the 
table. 

"Would  you  mind  locking  that  door,"  he  called  to 
Challoner;  and  turning  to  the  ladies:  "Mrs.  Chal- 
loner,  take  that  chair,  please,"  pointing  to  one  near 
est  to  him,  "and,  Miss  Bloodgood,  that,"  indicating 
one  next  to  Miriam's. 

Meantime,  Challoner  had  returned,  and  was  waiting, 
hesitatingly,  near  the  door. 

"Aren't  you  going  to  join  the  family  circle, 
Laurie?"  the  prosecutor  said  lightly. 

Challoner  then  came  forward,  and  placed  his  chair 
between  the  two  women. 

Murgatroyd's  manner  suddenly  became  chilly,  stern, 
in  short,  once  more  he  was  the  prosecutor  of  the  pleas. 


308  THE  RED  MOUSE 

Addressing  Challoner,  whom  he  looked  well  in  the  eye, 
he  began: — 

"Mrs.  Challoner  has  asked  me  to  go  on  a  hundred 
thousand  dollar  construction-bond  for  you;  also,  to 
loan  you  considerable  money." 

There  was  a  dramatic  pause.  And  except  for  a 
questioning  glance  from  Challoner  and  Shirley,  which 
found  a  ready  answer  in  the  eyes  of  Miriam,  his  listen 
ers  did  not  move  nor  speak. 

"There  it  is,"  announced  Murgatroyd,  in  the  same 
business-like  tone ;  and  stepping  aside  from  the  table, 
revealed  two  old,  battered,  dust-covered,  sheet-iron 
boxes. 

"Those  boxes!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Challoner,  who  was 
visibly  excited.  "What  is  in  them?"  she  asked  in  be 
wilderment. 

"I  don't  know,"  returned  Murgatroyd  calmly. 

There  was  no  question  in  the  minds  of  the  prosecu 
tor's  visitors  but  that  these  boxes  were  the  same  that 
Miriam  had  brought  to  him  so  long  ago,  filled 
with  negotiable  securities,  to  the  extent, — as  Mir 
iam  was  not  likely  to  forget, — of  eight  hundred 
and  sixty  thousand  dollars ;  but,  as  to  their  present 
contents,  all,  naturally,  were  at  a  loss  to  conjec 
ture.  So,  no  one  spoke,  but  continued  to  wait  ex 
pectantly  for  Murgatroyd  to  make  the  next  move. 
Apparently,  however,  that  was  far  from  his  in- 


THE  RED  MOUSE  309 

tention,  and  after  a  moment  Shirley  broke  out 
with : — 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  don't  know  what  is  in 
them?" 

"Miss  Bloodgood,  there's  only  one  person  in  this 
room  who  knows  that,"  he  replied  quietly.  Then 
turning  to  Mrs.  Challoner,  he  went  on  in  the  same 
tone : — 

"Do  you  see  these  seals?" 

"Yes,"  she  whispered. 

"Unbroken,  are  they  not  ?" 

"Yes,"  again  she  assented  faintly. 

"Well,  then,  you  know  what  is  inside  of  them ;  I  do 
not." 

"I?—"  faltered  Miriam.    "Why " 

Then  followed  a  moment  of  racking  suspense  for 
all,  except,  perhaps,  Murgatroyd. 

"Mrs.  Challoner,"  he  resumed,  "you  told  me  once 
that  there  were  eight  hundred  and  sixty  thousand  dol 
lars  in  negotiable  securities  in  these  boxes.  If  what 
you  then  said  was  true,  there  they  are,  coupons  and 
all." 

"But,  Mr.  Murgatroyd,"  protested  Mrs.  Challoner, 
"you  said  that  you  did  not  have  any  money  ..." 

Murgatroyd  smiled. 

"I  spoke  the  truth.  But  you  ..."  And  now, 
to  Challoner's  great  surprise,  Murgatroyd  fixed  his 


310  THE  RED  MOUSE 

eyes  on  him,  and  said  in  a  voice  that  impressed  them 
all  the  more,  inasmuch  as  it  was  filled  with  a  kindly 
confidence  rather  than  with  distrust: — 

"There's  eight  hundred  and  sixty  thousand  dollars 
in  those  boxes,  Challoner,  belonging  to  your  wife. 
Can  you  stand  having  it  back  again?" 

Challoner  looked  puzzled;  for  as  Miriam  had  told 
Shirley,  he  had  had  no  reason  to  believe  that  his  wife's 
fortune  had  not  all  been  spent  by  them.  Slowly  he 
began  to  understand,  but  he  was  too  overcome  to 
speak.  Presently  he  found  his  voice  and  said: — 

"Can  I  stand " 

"Yes,"  interrupted  Murgatroyd,  "you  know  what 
money  did  for  you  before — what  it  led  to — "  He 
broke  off  abruptly,  and  turning  to  Shirley  he  added : 
"I  told  you  once,  Miss  Bloodgood,  that  there  was  but 
one  way  to  cure  a  bad  millionaire,  but  one  way  to 
reform  him,  and  that  was  to  take  away  his  millions. 
Well,  I  took  away  his !" 

All  eyes  now  rested  on  Challoner,  who,  oblivious  to 
his  surroundings,  seemed  lost  in  thought, — and  who 
can  tell  what  dreams  may  come  to  one  suddenly 
lifted  from  the  depths  of  poverty  back  again  to 
affluence.  But  in  any  event,  looking  the  prosecutor 
straight  in  the  face  he  said  in  an  easy,  determined 
voice : — 

"Billy  Murgatroyd,  a  little  while  ago  you  asked 


THE  RED  MOUSE  311 

whether  I  could  stand  having  all  this  again ;  the  past 
five  years  of  my  life  is  my  answer  to  that." 

This  reply  brought  to  his  wife's  face  a  look  of  pride, 
and  unconsciously  she  straightened  up  in  her  chair; 
while  Shirley  sighed  perceptibly. 

"Laurie,"  went  on  Murgatroyd,  still  probing,  but 
not  unkindly,  "what  are  you  going  to  do  with  all  this 
money  ?" 

"You'll  have  to  ask  Miriam  about  that,"  he  returned 
quickly;  and  then  with  a  charming  smile,  he  added: 
"I  have  learned  that  a  man's  mission  is  to  make  money, 
and  a  woman's  .  .  .  ' 

Suddenly,  Challoner  grew  thoughtful  again. 

"To  think  of  the  time,"  he  said,  half -aloud,  "that  it 
took  Miriam  and  me  to  save  five  hundred  dollars !" 

"That  five  hundred  that  you  saved,"  commented 
Murgatroyd  solemnly,  "is  \vorth  more  to  you  than  all 
this  eight  hundred  and  sixty  thousand." 

"There's  no  mistake  about  that  either,  Murgatroyd," 
spoke  up  Challoner  promptly ;  but  bending  over  his 
wife,  he  added  with  a  fascinating  smile : — 

"Miriam,  you're  going  to  let  me  build  that  hospital, 
aren't  you?" 

Simultaneously  with  Miriam's  monosyllabic  answer, 
Murgatroyd  glanced  at  Challoner  sharply,  not  for 
getting,  quite  naturally,  how  easy  in  the  pasl  it  had 
been  for  the  husband  to  get  whatever  he  wanted  from 


THE  RED  MOUSE 

his  wife;  his  doubts,  however,  were  only  momentary, 
for  presently  he  pushed  the  boxes  toward  them,  say 
ing:— 

"There  it  is — it  all  belongs  to  you." 

But  in  all  this  Shirley  had  been  strangely  silent. 

"Mr.  Murgatroyd,"  she  now  said  icily,  "do  you  mean 
to  tell  us  that  your  only  motive  in  taking  this  money 
was  to  save  Mr.  Challoner?" 

Murgatroyd  took  a  few  steps  toward  her  and  re 
garded  her  coolly. 

"No — and  you  alone  were  right.  I  was  bribed — I 
was  corrupt — I  was  a  thief." 

"No,  no,"  cried  out  Shirley,  relenting. 

"Yes,"  he  went  on  mercilessly,  "it  is  true.  It  was 
my  ambition  that  did  it.  Besides,  I  was  tempted  by 
a  woman " 

"A  woman "  faltered  the  girl. 

"Like  Adam,  I'm  blaming  it  on  Eve.  This  woman 
wanted  me  to  be,  well,  really  great " 

"You " 

"Yes,"  he  persisted,  "I  was  bribed.  I  took  the  money. 
Oh,  you  don't  know  about  me !  You  don't  know  what 
I  was  five  years  ago!  It  seemed  to  me  then  that 
money  was  the  only  thing  that  could  make  me  really 
great.  I  knelt  at  the  shrine  of  money — loved  it  as  a 
dipsomaniac  loves  his  bottle." 

He  paused ;  then  he  continued  in  a  low  voice : — 


THE  RED  MOUSE  313 

"Yes,  I  took  money  to  acquit  Challoner,  and  then  I 
convicted  him.  Why?  Because  the  instinct  within 
me  to  do  my  duty  was  too  strong  to  allow  me  to  do 
otherwise.  All  the  evidence  was  against  him ;  he  had 
confessed ;  I  had  to  convict  him." 

"And  the  money — "  ventured  Shirley. 

"Like  a  dipsomaniac, — a  reformed  dipsomaniac, — I 
put  that  money  as  he  might  have  his  bottle,  on  the 
shelf — corked.  There  it  was — I  could  have  it  any  time 
I  wanted  it."  His  face  became  more  serious  as  he 
proceeded:  "Then  I  kept  on  being  a  thief,  for  there 
was  a  new  and  overpowering  motive  that  got  the  best 
of  me.  Like  the  reformed  dipsomaniac  I  was  deter 
mined  to  see  what  I  could  do  without  it.  It  became 
a  passion  with  me.  I  knew  that  every  move  I  made 
meant  the  expenditure  of  money.  A  hundred  times, 
yes,  a  thousand  times  I  have  had  my  fingers  on  those 
seals  about  to  break  them,  and  then  have  crawled 
away — once  more  to  do  without  the  money.  Some 
how,  I  knew,  that  my  time  must  come.  Besides,  there 
was  that  overwhelming  ambition, — prompted  by  a 
woman." 

Shirley  hung  her  head. 

"Yes,"  he  went  on  fiercely,  "a  woman  who  must  have 
her  due;  it  was  up  to  me  to  be  something  more  than 
merely  honest.  Anybody  could  be  honest,  she  told  me, 
but  not  everybody  could  be  great !" 


314.  THE  RED  MOUSE 

Shirley  ventured  to  look  up  at  him,  but  meeting  his 
gaze  fixed  on  her  face,  she  shifted  her  eyes  instantly. 

"Then  there  was  the  United  States  senatorship, — the 
fairest  office  in  the  State, — which  I  knew  I  could  buy 
with  the  money  for  which  I  had  sold  my  soul.  Again 
and  again  I  came  into  this  office  and  went  to  that  vault 
there,  determined  to  break  the  seals  of  the  covers  on 
those  boxes — to  buy  the  United  States  senatorship. 
But  I  could  not  bring  myself  to  do  it.  Something  al 
ways  said  to  me:  'YOU  MUST  DO  WITHOUT  IT! 
YOU  MUST  BE  HONEST!  YOU  MUST  MAKE 
A  CLEAN  FIGHT!'  Yet,  still,  I  was  a  thief:  hold 
ing  thousands  that  didn't  belong  to  me.  But  always 
upon  me  was  that  all-absorbing  passion, — a  passion, 
not  to  use,  but  to  do  without  the  thing  which  was  at 
my  finger's  ends, — an  incentive  without  which  I  could 
not  succeed.  And  so,"  he  concluded,  "I  went  in  and 
won  without  it." 

A  tense  silence  followed  the  prosecutor's  amazingly 
frank  revelation  of  his  temptation  and  the  success 
which  he  extorted  from  it.  Unconsciously,  he  as 
sumed  an  attitude  which  it  would  not  be  unfair  to 
describe  as  a  defensive  one,  in  readiness,  as  it  were, 
for  any  possible  strictures  on  his  conduct.  Nothing 
of  the  sort,  however,  was  forthcoming.  On  the  con 
trary,  at  least,  as  far  as  Mrs.  Challoner  was  con 
cerned,  at  no  time,  not  even  when  his  self -arraignment 


THE  RED  MOUSE  315 

had  been  the  most  severe,  had  his  terrible  words  suc 
ceeded  in  driving  the  happy  light  from  her  eyes. 
There  were  moments,  it  is  true,  when  a  dull  pallour 
had  spread  over  her  features,  a  pallour,  however, 
caused  solely  by  sudden  stings  of  agonising  memories, 
and  those  soft  brown  eyes  had  been  raised  to  his  ques- 
tioningly;  but  his  personality  had  ever  been  more  or 
less  baffling  and  mysterious  to  her;  and  so,  whether 
semi-fascinated  or  not,  they  left  him  thoroughly  satis 
fied  with  their  scrutiny. 

Probably  better  than  any  one  present,  Challoner  re 
alised  to  the  full  what  Murgatroyd  had  suffered.  Man 
like,  however,  he  was  more  than  willing  to  permit  the 
great  work  that  Murgatroyd  had  done  to  overshadow 
completely  his  questionable  proceedings.  Of  course, 
Challoner  was  quite  well  aware  that  the  prosecutor's 
actions  viewed  in  the  light  of  a  successful  campaign 
wore  an  entirely  different  aspect  than  they  would  had 
he  failed  to  obtain  the  senatorship.  In  the  latter  case 
it  was  inevitable,  no  matter  what  moral  satisfaction  he 
could  derive  from  the  return  of  the  money, — and  in 
fairness  to  Challoner  be  it  said  that  he  never  once 
questioned  it, — that  in  addition  to  the  humiliation  of 
a  ruined  career,  the  prosecutor  would  have  to  endure 
the  mortification  of  knowing  that  his  loss  of  self-re 
spect  was  wholly  futile.  But  in  any  event,  Challoner 
was  too  generous  not  to  accept  without  reservation 


316  THE  RED  MOUSE 

Murgatroyd's  contention  that,  at  least  in  part,  he  was 
actuated  by  a  praiseworthy  desire  to  save  his  wife  and 
him  from  the  results  of  his  dissipations.  To  a  man, 
such  as  Challoner  now  was,  it  can  easily  be  imagined, 
therefore,  that  he  would  regard  that  alone  as  suffi 
cient  reason  to  overlook  everything  else,  and  so  ris 
ing,  he  grabbed  impulsively  Murgatroyd's  hand, 
saying: — 

"Not  another  word,  old  man!    It's  all  right!" 

Murgatroyd  was  visibly  affected. 

"Thank  you,"  he  said  simply;  and  then  added: 
"Only  one  thing  more  remains  to  be  done.  Mrs.  Chal 
loner,  I  must  ask  you  to  break  these  seals." 

Miriam  demurred. 

"Oh,  no,  Mr.  Murgatroyd !"  she  said.  "Surely  you 
must  know  that  I  believe  you !" 

But  Murgatroyd  insisted;  and  obeying  him  finally, 
Miriam  broke  the  seals,  and  presently  she  showed  to 
them  the  securities,  undisturbed,  just  as  Murgatroyd 
had  taken  them,  dollar  for  dollar,  bond  and  bond. 

Suddenly  Murgatroyd  felt  a  touch  on  the  arm. 

"And  I  believe  you,  Billy,"  said  Shirley  contritely. 

An  enigmatical  smile  passed  across  the  prosecutor's 
face. 

"Do  you,  indeed?"  he  said  dryly;  and  added: 
"That's,  perhaps,  more  than  I  had  any  right  to  ex 
pect." 


THE  RED  MOUSE  817 

A  slight  pucker  showed  on  Miss  Bloodgood's  beauti 
ful  brow,  but  she  replied,  quite  unruffled: — 

"Why,  of  course,  I  do.  After  all,  you  were  honest, 
weren't  you  ?"  And  not  waiting  for  his  answer,  added 
ingenuously :  "You  were  not  a  thief !" 

Instantly  the  expression  on  Murgatroyd's  face  be 
came  a  very  serious  one. 

"Yes,  I  was,"  he  protested,  "I  was  a  thief."  And 
with  that  he  turned  to  Challoner  and  said  in  a  voice  of 
great  feeling:  "Challoner,  this  money  is  your  wife's. 
Take  it.  And  great  God,  man,"  he  groaned,  "don't, 
don't  forget  what  it  did  to  you — what  it  made  you, 
years  ago." 

Mrs.  Challoner  shivered  at  the  prosecutor's  earnest 
ness  ;  but  Challoner,  hesitating  for  a  moment  only,  ad 
vanced  and  said : — 

"We'll  take  it.  I'm  not  a  bit  afraid  now,  Murga- 
troyd — for  I  know."  And  then  holding  out  his  hand, 
he  continued  kindly :  "Billy,  if  you  hadn't  taken  it- — 
where  would  I  have  been  to-day?" 

"Free — free  as  you  are  now,"  said  the  other  man  in 
a  low,  strained  tone. 

"Yes,"  assented  Challoner,  "out  of  prison, 
but " 

Mrs.  Challoner  quickly  rose  and  put  an  end  to  the 
conversation  going  on  between  the  men. 

"Come,  Laurie,"  she  said  abruptly ;  and  holding  out 


318  THE  RED  MOUSE 

her  hand,  "good-bye,  Mr.  Murgatroyd!  I'm  afraid 
we  have  taken  up  altogether  too  much  of  your  time." 

Murgatroyd  shook  hands  with  the  Challoners ;  but 
on  Shirley  making  her  adieus,  he  said : — 

"May  I  have  a  moment  with  you,  Miss  Bloodgood? 
Won't  you  wait,  please?" 

Mrs.  Challoner  answered  for  the  girl : — 

"Shirley,  don't  be  in  any  hurry.  Laurie  and  I  will 
wait  for  you  in  the  ante-room — "  And  as  they 
passed  out  Challoner  called :  "Wait  until  you  see  that 
concrete  hospital,  Murgatroyd !" 

For  moments  that  seemed  hours  Shirley  and  Murga 
troyd  stood  facing  each  other,  neither  having  the 
courage  to  speak,  the  girl  filled  with  shame  at  the 
great  wrong  she  had  done  to  the  man  she  loved ;  while 
he,  feeling  as  if  the  burden  that  had  rested  upon  his 
soul  had  at  last  rolled  away,  was  drawing  deep  breaths 
— breathing  like  a  man  who  has  suddenly  come  out  of 
darkness  into  the  daylight.  Shirley  was  the  first  to 
break  the  silence ;  and  now  looking  up  at  Murgatroyd, 
with  a  little  shake  of  the  head  she  asked: — 

"Billy ,  do  you  care  to  know  what  I  think  of  you  ?" 

"Perhaps,  if  I  had  cared  less,  I " 

But  not  for  a  moment  would  Shirley  listen  now  to  his 
censuring  himself  further,  and  quickly  she  cut  him 
off. 

"I  think  it  was  a  far  finer  thing  to  take  the  money 


THE  RED  MOUSE  319 

and  not  touch  it,"  she  declared  with  true  feminine 
logic,  "than  never  to  have  taken  it  at  all." 

"But  what  if  this  habit  should  grow  upon  me,"  he 
retorted  smilingly.  "Evidently  Miss  Bloodgood 
doesn't  know  what  graft  awaits  me  in  Washington?" 

Shirley  laughed  softly. 

"To  think  that  you  accomplished  all  this  without 
money,"  she  said  happily. 

"But  the  worst  is  yet  to  come,"  he  observed  quickly. 
"It  means  that  one  has  to  keep  up  the  social  game, 
the  club  game,  the  political  game,  and  the  Lord  knows 
what  other  games  on  five  thousand — or  is  it  now  sev 
enty-five  hundred  a  year?  It  means  that  an  unmar 
ried  man  must  starve;  and  Heaven  help  the  married 
senator !  For  he  and  his  family  must  live  on  a  back 
street  in  the  capital  and  freeze.  That's  what  it  means 
to  a  senator  who  lives  on  his  salary." 

"But  doesn't  poverty  always  travel  hand  in  hand 
with  greatness,"  she  remarked  enthusiastically,  and 
with  superb  disdain  for  anything  that  she  may  have 
said  heretofore  to  the  contrary. 

Murgatroyd  looked  at  her  with  admiration.  Never 
before  had  her  eyes  seemed  to  him  so  blue  and  so 
lovely. 

"There's  one  thing — one  thing  that  I  didn't  tell 
Challoner  and  his  wife,"  he  said,  lowering  his  voice  al 
most  to  a  whisper.  "Can  you  guess  what  that  some- 


320  THE  RED  MOUSE 

thing  was  that  always  made  me  keep  my  hands  off 
those  iron  boxes?" 

Shirley  lifted  her  eyes  to  his  in  quick  understanding. 

"It  was  my  love  for  the  woman  who  wanted  me  to  be 
great,"  he  went  on  in  a  voice  so  shaken  with  emotion, 
that  she  scarcely  recognised  it  as  belonging  to 
him.  "That  was  the  motive  that  beat  down  all 
others." 

"And  will  you  forgive  the  foolish  lips  that  told  you 
to  go  wrong?" 

For  answer  he  held  out  his  arms  to  her  and  she  came 
to  them.  Then  he  stooped  down,  and  catching  her 
face  between  his  hands,  raised  it  slowly,  and  kissed  the 
lips  tenderly,  murmuring  lovingly : — 

"Her  soul  would  not  let  me  go  wrong." 

After  a  moment  Shirley  slowly  drew  herself  out  of 
his  arms  and  placing  a  hand  on  each  of  his  shoulders, 
asked  laughingly,  looking  deep  into  his  eyes : — 

"And  we'll  go  to  Washington?" 

"Yes,  dear,"  he  smiled  back.  "We're  going  to 
Washington — to  freeze  and  starve  together  on  that 
back  street —  Yes,  my  revenge  is  now  complete." 

Before  he  could  kiss  her  a  second  time,  Shirley  darted 
to  the  door,  opened  it  and  called: — 

"Miriam,  Laurie,  come  here — come  back!" 

One  look  at  the  face  of  the  girl  that  she  had  left  in 
the  office  was  sufficient  to  tell  Miriam  that  she  had 


THE  RED  MOUSE  321 

great  news  to  communicate.  Nevertheless,  she  asked 
innocently : — 

"What  for,  my  dear?  Are  you  going  to  lynch 
him?" 

Blushing  furiously,  Shirley  waved  her  hand  at  the 
boxes  on  the  table  and  said: — 

"Billy  says  that  you've  gone  off  and  forgotten  all 
your  money!" 


THE  END 


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D  ARNLEY.  A  Romance  of  the  times  of  Henry  VIII.  and  Cardinal  Wolsey. 
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gold"  would  entitle  the  story  to  the  most  favorable  consideration  of  every 
reader. 

There  is  really  but  little  pure  romance  In  this  story,  for  the  author  has 
taken  care  to  imagine  love  passages  only  between  those  whom  history  baa 
credited  with  having  entertained  the  tender  passion  one  for  another,  and 
he  succeeds  in  making  such  lovers  as  all  the  world  must  iove. 

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Catharine  of  Aragon  and  Anne  Boleyn.  By  Win.  Harrison  Ainsworth.  Cloth, 
i2mo.  with  four  illustrations  by  George  Cruikshank.  Price  $1.00. 

"Windsor  Castle"  Is  the  story  of  Henry  VIII.,  Catharine,  and  Anna 
Boleyn.  "Bluff  King  Hal,"  although  a  well-loved  monarch,  was  none  too 
good  a  one  in  many  ways.  Of  all  his  selfishness  and  unwarrantable  acts, 
none  was  more  discreditable  than  his  divorce  from  Catharine,  and  his  mar 
riage  to  the  beautiful  Anne  Boleyn.  The  King's  love  was  as  brief  as  It 
was  vehement.  Jane  Seymour,  waiting  maid  on  the  Queen,  attracted  him, 
and  Anne  Boleyn  was  forced  to  the  block  to  make  room  for  her  successor. 
This  romance  is  one  of  extreme  interest  to  all  readers. 

HORSESHOE  ROBINSON.  A  tale  of  the  Tory  Ascendency  in  South  Caro« 
fina  in  1780.  By  John  P.  Kennedy  Cloth,  izmo.  with  four  illustrations  by  J. 
Watson  Davis.  Price,  $1.00. 

Among  the  old  favorites  In  the  .leld  of  what  Is  known  as  historical  fic 
tion,  there  are  none  which  appeal  to  a  larger  number  of  Americans  than 
Horseshoe  Robinson,  and  this  because  It  is  the  only  story  which  depicts 
with  fidelity  to  the  facts  the  heroic  efforts  of  the  colonists  In  South  Caro 
lina  to  defend  their  homes  against  the  brutal  oppression  of  the  British 
nnder  such  leaders  as  Cornwallis  and  Tarleton. 

The  reader  is  charmed  with  the  story  of  love  which  forms  the  thread 
of  the  tale,  and  then  impressed  with  the  wealth  of  detail  concerning  those 
times.  The  picture  of  the  manifold  sufferings  of  the  people,  Is  never  over 
drawn,  but  painted  faithfully  and  honestly  by  one  who  spared  neither 
time  nor  labor  In  his  efforts  to  present  In  this  charming  love  story  all  that 
price  in  blood  and  tears  which  the  Carolinians  paid  as  their  share  in  the 
Winning  of  the  republic. 

Take  it  all  in  all,  "Horseshoe  Robinson"  Is  a  work  which  should  be 
found  on  every  book-shelf,  not  only  because  it  Is  a  most  entertaining 
Btory,  but  because  of  the  wealth  of  valuable  Information  concerning  the 
colonists  which  it  contains.  That  It  has  been  brought  out  once  more,  well 
Illustrated,  is  something  which  will  give  pleasure  to  thousands  who  have 
long  desired  an  opportunity  to  read  the  story  again,  and  to  the  many  who 
have  tried  vainly  in  these  latter  days  to  procure  a  copy  that  they  might 
read  It  for  the  first  time. 

THE  PEARL  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND.  A  story  of  the  Coast  of  Maine.  By 
Harriet  Beecher  Stowe.  Cloth,  izmo.  Illustrated.  Price,  f  i.oo. 

Written  prior  to  1862,  the  "Pearl  of  Orr's  Island"  Is  ever  new;  a  book 
filled  with  delicate  fancies,  such  as  seemingly  array  themselves  anew  each 
time  one  reads  them.  One  sees  the  "sea  like  an  unbroken  mirror  all 
around  the  pine-girt,  lonely  shores  of  Orr's  Island,"  and  straightway 
comes  "the  heavy,  hollow  moan  of  the  surf  on  the  beach,  like  the  wild 
angry  howl  of  some  savage  animal." 

Who  can  read  of  the  beginning  of  that  sweet  life,  named  Mara,  which 
•vune  Into  this  world  under  the  very  shadow  of  the  Death  angel's  wings, 
Witnout  having  an  intense  desire  to  know  how  the  premature  bud  blos 
somed?  Again  and  again  one  lingers  over  the  descriptions  of  the  char 
ter  of  that  baby  boy  Moses,  who  came  through  the  tempest,  amid  th« 
ftngry  billows,  pillowed  on  his  dead  mother's  breast 

There  is  no  more  faithful  portrayal  of  New  Kngland  life  than  thai 
*»Silch  Mrs.  6  to  we  gives  in  "The  Pearl  of  Orr's  Island." 


aunt  a  SERIES  of  STANDARD 

RICHELIEU.  A  tale  of  France  in  the  reign  of  King  I/mis  XIII.  By  G.  F. 
St.  James.  Cloth,  izmo.  with  four  illustrations  by  J.  Watson  Davis.  Price,  Ji.oa, 

In  1829  Mr.  James  published  his  first  romance,  "Richelieu/*  and  wa» 
Cecognized  at  once  as  one  of  the  masters  of  the  craft. 

In  this  book  he  laid  the  story  during  those  later  days  of  the  great  car 
dinal's  life,  when  his  power  was  beginning  to  wane,  but  while  It  wa« 
yet  sufficiently  strong  to  permit  now  and  then  of  volcanic  outbursts  which 
overwhelmed  foes  and  carried  friends  to  the  topmost  wav«  of  prosperity. 
One  of  the  most  striking  portions  of  the  story  is  that  of  Cinq  Mar's  conspir 
acy;  the  method  of  conducting  criminal  cases,  and  the  political  trickery 
resorted  to  by  royal  favorites,  affording  a  better  Insight  into  the  state* 
craft  of  that  day  than  can  be  bad  even  by  an  exhaustive  study  of  history. 
It  is  a  powerful  romance  of  love  and  diplomacy,  and  in  point  of  thrilling 
and  absorbing  interest  has  never  been  excelled. 

A  COLONIAL  FREE-LANCE.  A  story  of  American  Colonial  Times.  F,y 
Chauncey  C.  Hotchkiss.  Cloth,  umo.  with  four  illustrations  by  J.  Watson 
Davis.  Price,  f  i.oo. 

A  book  that  appeals  to  Americans  as  a  vivid  picture  of  Revolutionary 
scenes.  The  story  is  a  strong  one,  a  thrilling  one.  It  causes  the  true 
American  to  flush  with  excitement,  to  devour  chapter  after  chapter,  until 
the  eyes  smart,  and  it  fairly  smokes  with  patriotism.  The  love  story  la  • 
singularly  charming  idyl. 

THE  TOWER  OF  LONDON.  A  Historical  Romance  of  the  Times  of  Lady 
Jane  Grey  and  Mary  Tudor.  By  Wm.  Harrison  Ainsworth.  Cloth,  I2mo.  with 
four  illustrations  by  George  Cruikshank.  Price,  Ji.oo. 

This  romance  of  the  "Tower  of  London"  depicts  the  Tower  as  palace, 
prison  and  fortress,  with  many  historical  associations.  The  era  Is  the 
middle  of  the  sixteenth  century. 

The  story  is  divided  into  two  parts,  one  dealing  with  Lady  Jane  Grey, 
and  the  other  with  Mary  Tudor  as  Queen,  introducing  other  notable  char 
acters  of  the  era.  Throughout  the  story  holds  the  interest  of  the  reader 
In  the  midst  of  intrigue  and  conspiracy,  extending  considerably  over  a 
half  a  century. 

IN  DEFIANCE  OP  THE  KINO.  A  Romance  of  the  American  Revolution. 
By  Chauncey  C.  Hotchkisa.  Cloth,  I2mo.  with  four  illustrations  by  J.  Walton 
Davis.  Price,  $1.00. 

Mr.  Hotchkiss  has  etched  in  burning  words  a  story  of  Yankee  bravery, 
and  true  love  that  thrills  from  beginning  to  end,  with  the  spirit  of  the 
Revolution.  The  heart  beats  quickly,  and  we  feel  ourselves  taking  a 
part  in  the  exciting  scenes  described.  His  whole  story  is  so  absorbing 
that  you  will  sit  up  far  Into  the  night  to  finish  it.  As  a  love  romance 
tt  is  charming. 

GARTHOWEN.  A  story  of  a  Welsh  Homestead.  By  Allen  Raine,  Cloth, 
22ino.  with  four  illustrations  by  J.  Watson  Davis.  Price,  $1.00. 

"This  is  a  little  Idyl  of  humble  life  and  enduring  love,  laid  Dare  before 
us,  very  real  and  pure,  which  In  its  telling  shows  us  some  strong  points  of 
Welsh  character— the  pride,  the  hasty  temper,  the  quick  dying  out  of  wrath. 
.  .  .  We  call  this  a  well-written  story,  interesting  alike  through  its 
romance  and  Its  glimpses  into  another  life  than  ours.  A  delightful  and 
clever  picture  of  Welsh  village  life.  The  result  is  excellent."— Detroit  Free 
Press. 

MIFANWY.  The  story  of  a  Welsh  Singer.  By  Allan  Raine.  Cloth, 
jzmo.  with  four  illustrations  by  J.  Watson  Davis.  Price,  |i.oo. 

"This  Is  a  love  story,  simple,  tender  and  pretty  as  one  would  care  to 
read.  The  action  throughout  is  brisk  and  pleasing;  the  characters,  it  is  ap 
parent  at  once,  are  as  true  to  life  as  though  the  author  had  known  them 
all  personally.  Simple  in  all  its  situations,  the  story  is  worked  up  in  that 
touching  and  quaint  strain  which  never  grows  wearisome,  no  matter  how 
often  the  lights  and  shadows  of  love  are  introduced.  It  rings  true,  anC 
toes  not  tax  the  imagination."— Boston  Herald. 


OURT'S  SERIES  of  STANDARD   F1CTIOJW- 

THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  BORDER.  A  Romance  of  the  Early  Settlers  In  th€ 
Ohio  Valley.  By  Zane  Grey.  Cloth.  i2ino.  with  four  illustrations  by  J.  Watsoc 
Davis.  Price,  Ji. oo. 

A  book  rather  out  of  the  ordinary  is  this  "Spirit  of  the  Border."  The 
main  thread  of  the  story  has  to  do  with  the  work  of  the  Moravian  mis 
sionaries  in  the  Ohio  Valley.  Incidentally  the  reader  is  given  details  of  the 
frontier  life  of  those  hardy  pioneers  who  broke  the  wilderness  for  the  plant- 
Ing  of  this  great  nation.  Chief  among  these,  as  a  matter  of  course,  is 
Lewis  Wetzel,  one  of  the  most  peculiar,  and  at  the  same  time  the  most 
admirable  of  all  the  brave  men  who  spent  their  lives  battling  with  the 
eavage  foe,  that  others  might  dwell  in  comparative  security. 

Details  of  the  establishment  and  destruction  of  the  Moravian  "Villag* 
of  Peace"  are  given  at  some  length,  and  with  minute  description.  The! 
efforts  to  Christianize  the  Indians  are  described  as  they  never  have  been 
before,  and  tr-e  author  has  depicted  the  characters  of  the  leaders  of  the 
several  Indian  tribes  with  great  care,  which  of  itself  will  be  of  interest  ' 
the  student. 

By  no  means  least  among  the  charms  of  the  story  are  the  vivid  word* 
pictures  of  the  thrilling  adventures,  and  the  intense  paintings  of  the  beau 
ties  of  nature,  as  seen  in  the  almost  unbroken  forests. 

It  is  the  spirit  of  the  frontier  which  is  described,  and  one  can  by  it, 
perhaps,  the  better  understand  why  men,  end  women,  too,  willingly  braved 
every  privation  and  danger  that  the  westw.ard  progress  of  the  star  of  em 
pire  might  b^the  more  certain  snd  rapid.  A.  love  story,  simple  and  tender, 
runs  througlPthe  book. 

CAPTAIN  BRAND,  OP  '.HE  SCHOONER  CENTIPEDE.  By  IJeulc 
flenry  A.  Wise,  U.  S.  N.  (Harry  Gringo).  Cloth,  121110.  with  four  Ulustra< 
tions  by  J.  Watson  Davis.  Price,  Ji.oo. 

The  re-publication  of  this  story  will  please  those  lovers  of  sea  yarns 
who  delight  in  so  much  of  the  salty  flavor  of  the  ocean  as  can  come  through 
the  medium  of  a  printed  page,  for  never  has  a  story  of  the  sea  and  those 
"who  go  down  in  ships"  been  written  by  one  more  familiar  with  the  scenes 
depicted. 

The  one  book  of  this  gifted  author  which  is  best  remembered,  and  which 
will  be  read  with  pleasure  for  many  years  to  come,  is  "Captain  Brand," 
who,  as  the  author  states  on  his  title  page,  was  a  "pirate  of  eminence  In 
the  West  Indies."  As  a  sea  story  pure  and  simple,  "Captain  Brand"  has 
never  been  excelled,  and  as  a  story  of  piratical  life,  told  without  the  usual 
embellishments  of  blood  and  thunder,  it  has  no  equal. 

*11CK  OF  THE  WOODS.  A  story  of  the  Early  Settlers  of  Kentucky.  By 
Robert  Montgomery  Bird.  Cloth,  I2tno.  with  four  illustrations  by  J.  Watson 
Davis.  Price,  Ji.oo. 

This  most  popular  novel  and  thrilling  story  of  early  frontier  life  in 
Kentucky  was  originally  published  In  the  year  1837.  The  novel,  long  out  of 
print,  had  in  its  day  a  phenomenal  sale,  for  its  realistic  presentation  of 
Indian  and  frontier  life  in  the  early  days  of  settlement  in  the  South,  nar 
rated  in  the  tale  with  all  the  art  of  a  practiced  writer.  A  very  charming 
love  romance  runs  through  the  story.  This  new  and  tasteful  edition  of 
"Nick  of  the  Woods"  will  be1  certain  to  make  many  new  admirers  for 
this  enchanting  story  Jrgm  Dr.  Bird's  clever  and  versatile  pen. 

GUY  FAWKES.  A  Romance  of  the  Gunpowder  Treason.  By  Wm.  Hani- 
son  Ainsworth.  Cloth,  I2mo.  with  four  illustrations  by  George  Cruikshank. 
Price,  $i.oo. 

The  "Gunpowder  Plot"  was  a  modest  attempt  to  blow  up  Parliament, 
the  King  and  his  Counsellors.  James  of  Scotland,  then  King  of  England, 
was  weak-minded  and  extravagant.  He  hit  upon  the  efficient  scheme  of 
extorting  money  from  the  people  by  imposing  taxes  on  the  Catholics.  In 
their  natural  resentment  to  this  extortion,  a»  handful  of  bold  spirits  con- 
eluded  to  overthrow  the  government.  Finally  the  plotters  were  arrested, 
s>nd  the  King  put  to  torture  Guy  Fawkes  and  the  other  prisoners  with 
Joyal  vigor,  A  very  intense  iuv«  .st£<*  *«**,  iitfough  the  entire  romance. 


BVELT*S  SERIES  of  STANDARD  FICTION, 

i 

TICONDEROGA  :  A  Story  of  Early  Frontier  Life  in  the  Mohawk  Valley.' 
By  G.  P.  R.  James.  Cloth,  i2mo.  with  four  page  illustrations  by  J.  Watson 
Davis.  Price,  Ji.oo.  I 

The  setting  of  the  story  Is  decidedly  more  picturesque  than  any  ever 
evolved  by  Cooper:  The  frontier  of  New  York  State,  where  dwelt  an  English 
gentleman,  driven  from  his  native  home  by  grief  over  the  loss  of  his  wife, 
with  a  son  and  daughter.  Thither,  brought  by  the  exigencies  of  war,  comes 
an  English  officer,  who  is  readily  recognized  as  that  Lord  Howe  who  met  his 
death  at  Ticonderoga.  As  a  most  natural  sequence,  even  amid  the  hostile 
demonstrations  of  both  French  and  Indians,  Lord  Howe  and  the  young  girl 
find  time  to  make  most  dellciously  sweet  love,  and  the  son  of  the  recluse  lias 
already  lost  his  heart  to  the  daughter  of  a  great  sachem,  a  dusky  maiden 
whose  warrior-father  has  surrounded  her  with  all  the  comforts  of  a  civilized 
life. 

The  character  of  Captain  Brooks,  who  voluntarily  decides  to  sacrifice  his 
own  life  in  order  to  save  the  son  of  the  Englishman,  Is  not  among  the  least 
of  the  attractions  of  this  story,  which  holds  the  attention  of  the  reader  even 
to  the  last  page.  The  tribal  laws  and  folk  lore  of  the  different  tribes  of 
Indians  known  as  the  "Five  Nations,"  with  which  the  story  is  interspersed, 
shows  that  the  author  gave  no  small  amount  of  study  to  the  work  in  question, 
and  nowhere  else  is  it  shown  more  plainly  than  by  the  skilful  manner  in 
which  he  has  interwoven  with  his  plot  the  "blood"  law,  which  demands  a 
life  for  a  life,  whether  It  be  that  of  the  murderer  or  one  of  his  race. 

A  more  charming  story  of  mingled  love  and  adventure  has  never  been 
written  than  "Ticonderoga." 

ROB  OP  THE  BOWL  :  A  Story  of  the  Early  Days  of  Maryland.  By  John 
P.  Kennedy.  Cloth,  larno.  with  four  page  illustrations  by  J.  Watson  Davist, 
Price,  $1.00. 

It  was  while  he  was  a  member  of  Congress  from  Maryland  that  the 
noted  statesman  wrote  this  story  regarding  the  early  history  of  his  native 
State,  and  while  some  critics  are  Inclined  to  consider  "Horse  Shoe  Robinson1' 
as  the  best  of  his  works,  it  is  certain  that  "Rob  of  the  Bowl"  stands  at  the 
head  of  the  list  as  a  literary  production  and  an  authentic  exposition  of  the 
manners  and  customs  during  Lord  Baltimore's  rule.  The  greater  portion  08 
the  action  takes  place  in  St.  Mary's — the  original  capital  of  the  State. 

As  a  series  of  pictures  of  early  colonial  life  in  Maryland,  "Rob  of  the 
Bowl"  has  no  equal,  and  the  book,  having  been  written  by  one  who  had 
exceptional  facilities  for  gathering  material  concerning  the  individual  mem 
bers  of  the  settlements  In  and  about  St.  Mary's,  is  a  most  valuable  addition 
to  the  history  of  the  State. 

The  story  is  full  of  splendid  action,  with  a  charming  love  story,  and  a 
plot  that  never  loosens  the  grip  of  its  Interest  to  its  last  page. 

BY  BKRWEN  BANKS.    By  Allen  Ralne. 

It  Is  a  tender  and  beautiful  romance  of  the  Idyllic.  A  charming  picture 
of  life  In  a  Welsh  seaside  village.  It  Is  something  of  a  prose-poem,  true, 
tender  and  graceful. 

IN  DEFIANCE  OP  THE  KINO.    A  romance  of  the  American  Revolution. 

By  Chauncey  C,  Ilotchkiss.    Cloth,  I2mo.  with  four  illustrations  by  J.  Watson 
Davis.    Price,  $1.00. 

The  story  opens  In  the  month  of  April,  1775,  with  the  provincial  troops 
hurrying  to  the  defense  of  Lexington  and  Concord.  Mr.  Hotchkiss  has  etched 
In  burning  words  a  story  of  Yankee  bravery  and  true  love  that  thrills  from 
beginning  to  end  with  the  spirit  of  the  Revolution.  The  heart  beats  quickly, 
and  we  feel  ourselves  taking  a  part  In  the  exciting  scenes  described.  Yoa 
lay  the  book  aside  with  the  feeling  that  you  have  seen  a  gloriously  true 
picture  of  the  Revolution.  His  whole  story  1«  so  absorbing  that  you  will  Sit 
up  f>7  Into  the  night  to  finish  it.  As  a  love  /.-omange,  it  fa  charming. 


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